"That's the place. You can drop me off here."
Roy gently pulled the SUV to a stop and parked at the curb.
She turned to him. "Thanks for the ride, Roy."
He looked at her, smile calm and easy. "Good luck tonight. Don't go too hard on the guy."
She laughed, opening the door. "No promises."
As she stepped out, the cool night air greeted her. Just before shutting the door, she leaned slightly, her voice soft.
"Good night, boss."
"Good night, Celia," Roy replied, his gaze lingering for a second.
She closed the door, adjusted her skirt, and walked toward the restaurant's softly lit entrance.
Celia entered the restaurant, the warm amber lighting and soft jazz music creating an intimate atmosphere that suddenly felt too romantic for what was about to unfold. She approached the reception desk, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor.
"Someone is waiting for me here. I have a reservation under table number 32," she told the hostess, her voice steady despite the knot of reluctance in her stomach.
The hostess, a young woman with a practiced smile, nodded and gestured for Celia to follow. "Right this way, miss."
As they weaved between tables filled with couples sharing quiet conversations and candlelit dinners, Celia couldn't help but think about Roy's words in the car. *A guy would have to be insanely lucky to get a woman like you.* The memory sent a bittersweet ache through her chest.
Table 31 sat near the window, overlooking the city's glittering lights. A man was already seated there, his dark hair neatly styled, wearing a charcoal suit that spoke of professional success. He was scrolling through his phone, a slight frown creasing his brow.
When he looked up, both of them froze.
"Alex?" Celia's voice came out higher than she intended.
"Celia?" Alex's eyes widened, his phone nearly slipping from his grasp.
The hostess, oblivious to the tension, pulled out Celia's chair with practiced efficiency. "Enjoy your evening," she said cheerfully before walking away, leaving them in a bubble of awkward silence.
Alex stood up quickly, the gesture automatic and polite, but his face had gone pale. Celia sat down slowly, her mind racing. Of all the people in the city, it had to be him—Roy's friend, the guy from the same building who always nodded politely in the elevator, whose divorce had been office gossip for weeks.
"This is..." Alex started, then stopped, running a hand through his hair. "I never expected my blind date would be you."
Celia let out a nervous laugh, the sound more strained than amused. "I can't believe it either. What are the odds?"
They sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment, both processing the situation. The romantic lighting that had seemed too intimate now felt almost mocking.
Alex leaned forward, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "Look, I need to ask you something. My mother set up this date, and she gave my details to her friend. Did your mother tell you anything specific about... about me?"
Celia studied his face, noting the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers drummed nervously against the table. "No, she didn't give me any details. She just said she'd found someone nice and that I should give it a chance." She paused, tilting her head slightly. "Why? What should she have told me?"
Alex's face flushed with embarrassment, and he looked down at his hands. The weight of unspoken truth hung between them like a heavy curtain. "That's what I was afraid of," he muttered, more to himself than to her.
When he looked up again, his eyes were filled with a mixture of guilt and mortification. "Celia, I'm divorced. And clearly, my mother didn't think it was important enough to mention to your mother when they were playing matchmaker."
Even though Celia already knew about his divorce—office buildings were notorious for gossip, and news traveled fast—seeing the raw shame in his expression made her heart ache for him.
"Alex, I—" she began, but he held up a hand.
"Please, let me finish." His voice was strained, barely above a whisper. "I feel like a complete fraud sitting here. You came expecting to meet someone new, someone with a clean slate, and instead you got... this. Me. A guy who couldn't even make his marriage work." He laughed bitterly.
The pain in his voice was so raw that Celia felt tears prick at her eyes. "Alex, you don't need to—"
"I do, though." He met her gaze, his eyes intense. "Because I like you, Celia. I've always thought you were incredible—professional, smart, beautiful. But you deserve someone who has their life together, not someone who's still picking up the pieces of a failed relationship."
Celia felt a complex mix of emotions swirling through her—sympathy for Alex's pain, frustration at the situation, and underneath it all, a persistent ache for someone else entirely. Someone who was probably at home with his wife right now, completely unaware that she was sitting here with his divorced friend, pretending to be interested in dating again.
"I think we should call off this date," Alex continued, his voice gaining strength as he made the decision. "I don't want to put any pressure on you or make you feel like you have to be polite because we know each other. This whole thing was a mistake from the start."
Celia understood completely. She could see the genuine care in his gesture—he was trying to protect her from feeling obligated, trying to give her an easy out and all she could think about was Roy's smile as he'd said goodnight in the car.
"I appreciate that, Alex. Really." Her voice was soft, filled with genuine warmth. "And for what it's worth, I don't think your divorce defines you. Sometimes things just don't work out, no matter how hard we try."
Relief flooded his features, followed quickly by gratitude. "You're being incredibly gracious about this. At least let me buy you dinner? We're here, the food's supposed to be good, and maybe we can just... talk. As friends."
Celia hesitated, then nodded. "Actually, I'd like that. But we split the bill. This isn't a date anymore, right?"
"Right," Alex agreed, and for the first time since they'd sat down, his smile looked genuine.
They ordered their meals—Celia choosing the salmon, Alex going with the steak—and as the evening progressed, the conversation flowed more naturally. They talked about work, about the challenges of their respective departments, about the quirks of working in the same building.
Celia found herself relaxing, appreciating his honesty and vulnerability. Alex was a good man—the kind of man her mother would approve of, the kind who would be a stable, reliable partner. But as she watched him talk, she couldn't shake the feeling that her heart was somewhere else entirely.
When their plates were nearly empty, Alex set down his fork and studied her face. "Can I ask you something personal?"
"Sure."
"Do you have feelings for Roy?"
The question hit her like a physical blow. She'd been taking a sip of water and nearly choked, coughing as the liquid went down the wrong way. Alex immediately reached over, his hand hovering near her shoulder.
"Are you okay? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"I'm fine," she managed, setting down her glass and dabbing at her mouth with her napkin. Her face felt hot, and she could feel her composure slipping. "But why would you ask that? What made you think I have feelings for him?"
Alex's expression was gentle but knowing. "Because during our entire dinner, you've mentioned him at least six times. When you talked about the MNT Capital proposal, you smiled when you said how impressed you were with his presentation. When you mentioned the office coffee being terrible, you laughed and said Roy always brings in good coffee for the team. And just now, when I complimented your work ethic, you immediately deflected and said Roy was the one who really understood how to motivate people."
Celia felt exposed, as if Alex had just read pages from her diary aloud. She hadn't realized she'd been doing it—bringing Roy into every conversation, using him as a reference point for everything.
"Plus," Alex continued, his voice even softer, "there's this look you get when you talk about him. Your whole face lights up. It's the same look my sister gets when she talks about her husband."
The truth hung between them, undeniable and heavy. Celia felt tears threatening again, but this time for a different reason. "It doesn't matter," she whispered finally. "He's married. Happily married. I would never—"
"I know you wouldn't," Alex said quickly. "That's not what I'm suggesting. I just... I can see it, that's all. And I wanted you to know that someone notices."
They sat in silence for a moment. Two people, each carrying their own version of heartbreak, sharing a meal that was supposed to be about new beginnings.
"Thank you," Celia said finally, "for being honest. About everything."
"Thank you for not making me feel like a complete disaster," Alex replied with a rueful smile.
As they waited for the check, both of them seemed to understand that this evening, strange as it had been, had given them something unexpected—not romance, but a moment of genuine human connection. Sometimes that was enough.