Outside, she headed automatically for her car. Andy caught up beside her, his eyes lighting up. "You drive this?" he said, grinning broadly at the sleek purple coupe. "That's sexy as hell, sunshine."

  Summer flushed, mumbling something about good interest rates and needing a reliable commuter. She reached for the door handle, but Andy caught her wrist gently.

  "Uh-uh," he said, chuckling. "First date? Gotta be my ride." He gestured down the lot where a gleaming black Dodge Charger was parked, all muscle and menace.

  Summer's eyes widened slightly. "You have a type," she murmured, half to herself.

  Andy just winked at her, leading her by the hand toward his car like it was the most natural thing in the world. He settled behind the wheel, his fingers casually tracing the smooth leather. Despite the Charger's growl and raw power, he drove with surprising care through the city streets — slow, steady, almost protective. The radio was low, a bit of classic rock humming underneath their easy conversation. Summer felt the contrast keenly: the fierce machine tempered by his calm hands.

  But once they hit a mostly empty four-lane road stretching ahead like an invitation, Andy's smirk deepened. Without a word, he put his foot down. The Charger responded like a coiled panther, growling low and then leaping forward.

  Summer's breath caught, heart pounding with a delicious mix of exhilaration and trust. She glanced over at Andy, whose eyes sparkled with a wild, boyish joy she hadn't expected to see. He was all sharp cheekbones and fierce concentration, looking like some beautiful demon set free. She laughed breathlessly, clinging to the door handle. But even then, his hand found hers again between gears, squeezing gently — as if to remind her he was still there, still in control.

  Andy finally slowed, the Charger purring low as he pulled into a parking lot tucked behind a row of small, quirky storefronts. Colourful murals covered the sides of the buildings, and the windows glittered with hanging beads, flowing dresses, battered leather jackets, and glittering jewellery displays.

  "This," Andy said with a little flourish of his hand, "is where the real treasures live."

  Summer twisted in her seat to look at him, still a little breathless from the drive. "Treasure hunting?"

  "Exactly," he said, eyes bright. "Anybody can walk into a chain store and come out looking manufactured. But finding something that fits you — just you — that's an art form."

  He climbed out, circling around the car to open her door with a little bow that made her giggle despite herself. When she took his hand and stepped out, she realized her heart was racing for a whole different reason now.

  Andy laced their fingers together and led her toward the shops, the late afternoon sun catching the dark gloss of his hair. "We'll find you something," he promised. "Something worthy of you."

  Summer ducked her head, shy but thrilled. She wasn't sure how she'd gotten here — tangled fingers, heart pounding like a drum, about to go treasure hunting with a man who looked like every teenage dream she'd never dared to have — but she wasn't going to let go of it now.

  As they wandered toward the first shop, Andy glanced down at her, his thumb brushing lightly across her knuckles. "What's your dress code for work, exactly?" he asked.

  Summer wrinkled her nose a little, thoughtfully. "Business casual. No shirts with text, unless it's local sports teams. No, um, grunge clothing. But I can basically wear anything I like on days I'm working from home."

  Andy grinned. "So you don't need a closet full of blazers and pencil skirts, just... a few things that make you feel good."

  "I don't need anything," she protested, feeling heat creep up her neck. "Really, Andy, you don't have to do this. I mean, I have clothes. It's not like — "

  He stopped walking and turned to face her, hand still tangled with hers. His blue eyes were patient, but firm. "Summer. I'm not doing this because I think you don't have anything. I'm doing it because I want to. Because you deserve to have things that make you feel beautiful."

  Summer bit her lip, unsure what to do with the heavy, hopeful ache blooming in her chest. It was so much easier to believe in scarcity, to cling to the idea that wanting was dangerous.

  Andy squeezed her hand lightly. "You don't have to buy anything you don't like," he said, voice soft. "And I'm not going anywhere if you don't pick anything at all. Deal?"

  After a shaky second, Summer nodded. "Deal."

  Andy kissed her forehead, lingering for a second longer than necessary, before tugging her onward. He wandered a few steps ahead of her into the boutique, scanning the racks with a quick, discerning eye. It didn't take long before he plucked out a soft blue tunic with graceful bell sleeves, the fabric lightweight and flowing like something out of a dream.

  He turned and held it up, and the moment Summer's eyes landed on it, something in her face shifted — a little spark, a light that hadn't been there a second before. She tried to suppress the smile curving her lips, but Andy caught it, and it filled him with a fierce, quiet pleasure.

  "I knew it," he said, smug and tender all at once. He stepped closer, until the fabric brushed against her arm. "You'd look beautiful in this. C'mon, try it on for me."

  Summer hesitated, but Andy only smiled at her with such warmth — no pressure, no judgment — that it made her breath hitch. With a small, almost embarrassed nod, she took the tunic from his hands. "Okay," she murmured.

  Andy grinned and made an exaggerated show of finding a spot to lean against the wall near the dressing rooms. "I'll be right here," he promised. "Dying to see."

  Summer disappeared behind the curtain, the tunic draped over her arm, leaving Andy smiling to himself, ridiculously proud that he'd guessed right about her style — and secretly hoping he'd get to be the one to coax that shy light into her eyes again and again.

  When she emerged again, she was nervously plucking at the hem of the tunic, her eyes flickering everywhere except at Andy. The blue draped over her beautifully, the bell sleeves giving her an air of casual elegance that made Andy's chest ache a little. She looked like some rare and delicate creature, too lovely to be real, and she had no idea. The shade was perfect, highlighting the warm undertones of her skin, the coppery fire of her long hair.

  Andy wasn't unsure at all.

  He pushed off the wall with deliberate slowness, stepping closer until she finally, hesitantly, lifted her gaze to him. Her cheeks were already colouring, a soft pink that only made her more heartbreakingly pretty. "You," Andy said, voice low and rough with feeling, "are stunning."

  Summer made a protesting noise, starting to look down again. "You're just being nice," she mumbled. Andy reached out, gently tipping her chin up with two fingers.

  "I'm not," he murmured. "I'd steal you away right now if you let me. You have no idea what you do to me."

  The breath caught in Summer's throat, and for a long, trembling second, she just stared at him — wide-eyed, vulnerable, luminous.

  "Let me spoil you a little," he said softly. "You deserve it." Her eyes flicked away, but at last she nodded.

  While Summer disappeared back into the dressing room to change out of the soft blue tunic, Andy wandered idly through the racks nearby, trailing his fingers over fabrics. He wasn't really looking for anything in particular — not until something caught the corner of his eye and he stopped dead, a slow, mischievous grin spreading over his face.

  Hanging near the end of one rack was a sundress in a pale sea-glass green, almost glowing under the shop's soft lights. The fabric was light and airy, with a two-tiered handkerchief hem that would flutter beautifully around her legs. Tiny picot edging traced the seams, delicate and subtle, like something straight out of a fairy story.

  Andy plucked it off the rack just as Summer emerged again, blue tunic carefully draped over her arm. She looked up, a little uncertain — only to find Andy grinning at her with wicked intent, holding the dress up like a prize. "You have to try this one too," he said, voice warm with excitement.

  Summer opened her mouth to protest — he was sure of it — but Andy stepped closer, holding the dress up between them like a peace offering. "Please," he said, softening his voice into something pleading. "Just for me."

  She blushed furiously, but under his bright, eager gaze, she gave a tiny, flustered nod and ducked back into the dressing room with the sundress in hand.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

  Andy leaned against the wall again, arms folded, waiting — more breathless with anticipation than he would have admitted even to himself.

  Inside the little dressing room, Summer tugged the sundress over her head, smoothing the fabric down with trembling fingers. She turned to the mirror, prepared to cringe — but froze instead.

  The sea-glass green clung lightly to her, brushing her figure in a way that somehow hinted at curves she was sure she didn't have. The handkerchief hem floated around her calves like something alive. Against her long red hair, the colour of the dress seemed to glow softly, like moonlight caught on water.

  For a moment, she just stared, surprised at herself. Was this really her? Could she be someone who looked like this? She swallowed hard and let out a small breath, uncertain but touched by how the dress made her feel — seen, softly pretty. How could a simple dress make her look like someone from another world? Someone a man like Andy might actually want?

  The thought made her chest ache. She twisted toward the door, almost too shy to step out. But Andy was waiting. And he had picked this for her. Taking a breath, Summer opened the door and stepped out. She hardly dared glance up — but when she did, the look on Andy's face made her breath catch.

  His smile was slow and unguarded, a warm curve of his mouth that deepened into something more as he looked her over. It wasn't just hunger, though there was plenty of that, clear as daylight in the way his blue eyes darkened. It was something richer, deeper — a kind of reverence, like she'd walked straight out of his dreams and into the real world.

  "God, Summer," he said softly, almost like he couldn't help it. "You're... breathtaking."

  She hugged herself without thinking, as if to shield the fragile wonder blooming in her chest, but Andy stepped closer. Careful. Gentle. As if he knew she might bolt.

  "You look like a wish someone made," he murmured, and this time when he smiled, it was almost shy. "My wish."

  Summer let out a helpless little laugh as Andy caught her hand and spun her in a slow, easy twirl, the hem of the sea-glass dress flaring around her knees like petals. When she came to a stop, a little breathless, he was right there — close enough that she could see the faint dusting of eyeliner still clinging to his lashes, the fierce determination behind the warmth in his gaze.

  "I'm not taking no for an answer," Andy said, voice low and certain. His fingers tightened gently around hers. "This one's mine. I'm buying it for you."

  Summer opened her mouth to protest — something about it being too much, about how she didn't deserve it — but Andy shook his head before she could even form the words. He wasn't going to let her run from this tiny, beautiful kindness.

  "You make it look like it was made just for you," he said. "Let me do this."

  Summer, heart hammering against her ribs, could only nod. She lingered a moment longer in front of the mirror, smoothing her hands down the gauzy fabric, almost wistful. Then, reluctantly, she slipped back into the little dressing room and changed back into her work clothes — the familiar, practical armour that now felt somehow duller than it had that morning.

  When she emerged, the sea-glass dress folded carefully over one arm, Andy was already waiting for her. He took the dress and the soft blue tunic from her without hesitation, flashing her a smile that was a little too pleased with himself. Before she could second-guess, before she could protest, he was striding over to the cashier with both items in hand.

  Summer hurried after him, but he just glanced back at her once — one eyebrow lifted in playful warning — and she slowed, her cheeks burning but her heart aching sweetly too. Andy paid with an ease that suggested he didn't want her worrying about the cost, chatting lightly with the cashier while Summer stood by, trying to tamp down the helpless, fluttery feeling growing bigger and bigger inside her.

  When he turned back to her, shopping bag in hand, it was with a triumphant little smirk that softened the moment he caught her expression. "There," Andy said, offering the bag like it was something precious. "Now you have a little moonlight to wear whenever you want."

  Summer cradled the shopping bag against her chest, feeling oddly shy now that she had something so beautiful, so chosen for her. She trailed after Andy at first, uncertain, assuming he would say they were done now that he'd bought her something. But Andy only grinned, caught her hand, and tugged her gently toward another store across the breezy parking lot.

  It was a thrift shop, dusty but full of hidden treasures, and despite herself, Summer found her curiosity waking. In a rack near the back, her fingers brushed over a long, sweeping skirt the colour of champagne, its fabric catching the light like water. She hesitated, fingers curled into the material, but Andy was immediately at her side, his voice warm: "You have to get that. You'll look like a goddess." Blushing, she relented, and Andy beamed as he added it to their growing collection.

  Next, he pulled her into a little boutique that smelled of sandalwood and beeswax, the walls lined with pagan jewellery, intricate wood carvings, and candle displays in every imaginable scent. Summer lingered longest in the jewellery section, fingertips brushing over silver charms, stones strung on delicate chains, rings etched with runes. Andy stayed close but didn't crowd her, only watching, the way someone might watch a flower slowly turning its face to the sun. Every time she showed interest — at a little moonstone ring, a bundle of dried lavender tied with green twine, a set of tiny carven cats — he encouraged her gently, as if her wanting was something sacred.

  Finally, a craft store caught her eye, with walls of colourful beads, spools of shimmering thread, and rows of tiny tools neatly lined up. Summer hovered by the beads, her eyes wide and childlike, reaching out to gently stir through the glossy colours. Andy didn't rush her. He stood back, hands in his pockets, simply watching as she came alive more with every step.

  There was something unguarded about her now — something freer — and Andy could hardly tear his eyes away. This wasn't a transaction. This wasn't an act. This was her, blooming under the simplest things: kindness, attention, genuine care. Somewhere deep in his chest, something fierce and protective and awed anchored itself more firmly into place. He thought he could spend the rest of his life learning every shade of light that touched her face.

  Summer turned to him, a little uncertain. "Um," she said, hesitant but determined, "would it be okay if we got sushi for dinner?"

  Andy's heart nearly cracked open right there in the middle of the bead aisle. It was such a small thing, but to him it felt like a huge, delicate trust she was offering. Asking for something she wanted. Wanting to share something with him. He smiled, soft and slow, stepping close enough that she had to tip her head back to meet his eyes. "I'd love that," he said, meaning every word.

  Summer's answering smile was a little shy, a little dazzled, and Andy thought he might actually float. He wanted to tuck that look away somewhere safe, keep it for rainy days and cold nights. "Come on," he said gently, offering his hand again. "Let's pay for these beads first. Then I'll take you anywhere you want." Summer hesitated only a second before her smaller hand slid into his.

  At the little sushi place — cosy, warmly lit, filled with the faint scent of sesame and ginger — she seemed to unfold like a blossom touched by the sun. Once they were seated and the menus in hand, her hesitation melted. She leaned forward a little over the table, her eyes lighting up. "They have unagi!" she said, almost to herself, and then with more certainty, "You have to try it if you haven't. It's sweet and smoky, and the texture is just — " She gestured vaguely, as if words weren't quite good enough.

  Andy found himself grinning, charmed beyond measure. "I'll take your recommendation," he said.

  From there, Summer talked more freely than he'd heard yet. She told him about a childhood love of anime and manga, how it had sparked an interest in the language and food, even cultural history. She described learning to make simple sushi rolls at home, stumbling through hiragana, trying to fold tiny paper cranes in the back of math class.

  Her hands moved when she talked, and her voice grew stronger, more certain. Confident. Andy listened like a man dying of thirst, suddenly offered spring water. Every little piece she shared felt like a precious gift he hadn't earned but desperately wanted to keep safe.

  When the food came, Summer expertly picked up her chopsticks and smiled when Andy fumbled a bit with his. She showed him how to hold them properly, her fingers lightly brushing his in demonstration.

  "I like when you smile," Andy said, when she laughed at his clumsy attempts. He didn't even try to hide how much he meant it.

  They lingered long after their plates were bare, the comfortable buzz of conversation and the quiet clink of dishware filling the small restaurant around them. Andy found himself leaning closer without even realizing it, the low, warm light seeming to wrap around them like a cocoon.

  The proprietor, a wiry older man with a deeply lined face and bright, mischievous eyes, shuffled over with a plate in hand. On it sat two delicate mochi, pastel green and pink, and between them, a tiny candle burning with a cheerful flame.

  "Special for sweethearts," he said, his accent thick but his grin unmistakable. He winked at Summer, who instantly turned pink.

  Andy barked a laugh and ran a hand through his hair, grinning like a fool. "Thank you," he said sincerely.

  Summer ducked her head, but the delighted smile she wore was impossible to miss. She peeked up at Andy through her lashes as the proprietor left them, humming to himself.

  "Sweethearts, huh?" Andy said, teasing but not in a way that pushed her. More like he was tasting the word. Rolling it around in his mind like candy on his tongue.

  Summer gave a breathless little laugh, her hands fidgeting with the napkin in her lap. "I guess we must look that way."

  Andy leaned in even closer, so their faces were only inches apart across the table. "Maybe we are," he said softly.

  Summer didn't answer — but the look she gave him, wide-eyed and full of something sweet and shy, was better than words. They split the mochi, carefully, and kept talking. About her job — he learned she was a software developer; about their hobbies — drawing for him, gaming for her; about history and culture. Finally Andy realised they should leave the table for someone else.

  Andy slipped his hand into Summer's as they stepped out into the evening air, the little chime above the restaurant door tinkling behind them. She startled slightly, as if unused to being touched so easily, but then her fingers tightened shyly around his. It was natural. Sweet. Like something they'd been doing forever, not just for a few hours.

  The sky was still faintly pink at the edges, the last breath of sunset giving way to the first pricks of stars. Andy squeezed her hand lightly, glancing sideways at her. She was smiling, a real, radiant smile that made his chest ache in a strange, too-huge way.

  He realized, with a flicker of amused affection, that Summer hadn't even made a move to pay for the sushi. Hadn't awkwardly fumbled for her wallet, hadn't argued or hesitated. She had let him take care of her without even thinking about it.

  It felt good. Dangerous, but good.

  He swung their joined hands gently between them as they walked, feeling more than a little reckless with happiness. "So," he said, voice easy, teasing, "am I gonna have to bribe you with more mochi if I want a second date?"

  Summer blurted out "No!" — too loud, too fast. She clamped her mouth shut, wide-eyed, her cheeks instantly flooding pink.

  Andy stopped walking, turning to face her fully, their hands still linked. His smile softened into something almost tender as he watched her squirm.

  "I mean," she stammered, trying to regain some dignity, "you don't have to bribe me. I would — I'd like to. Go on another date, I mean. Very much."

  The way she said it, all breathless honesty, made something fierce and protective flare up inside Andy. He squeezed her hand again, thumb brushing over her knuckles. "Good," he said simply, grinning. "Because I don't think I could've gone much longer without seeing you again anyway."

  Summer looked like she might melt straight into the sidewalk. Andy thought he might not be far behind.