#forca barca

⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

Well.

"Courage" might've been giving him too much credit.

He'd spent nearly twenty minutes staring at your contact, typing and deleting messages that ranged from Do you want to grab dinner sometime? to I know this is random, but... before eventually settling on something so painfully straightforward that even he winced after hitting send.

⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

He'd thrown his phone across the room immediately afterward.

You, of course, accepted.

⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

She spotted him before he spotted her.

He was standing just outside the restaurant, hands shoved deep into the pockets of a navy jacket, absentmindedly rocking back and forth on the heels of his sneakers. Every few seconds his gaze drifted up the street, then down again, scanning the crowd before pulling out his phone.

He unlocked it.

Looked at the time.

Locked it.

Then, less than ten seconds later, checked it again.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"So you've just been standing here?"

His head snapped up so quickly it almost startled him.

The second their eyes met, every trace of concentration disappeared from his face, replaced almost instantly by relief.

"Oh."

The word came out much quieter than he'd intended.

He pushed himself away from the wall a little too fast, nearly fumbling his phone before catching it awkwardly against his jacket.

"I—" He stopped himself, letting out an embarrassed laugh instead.

"Hi." She smiled.

"Hi."

For a moment, neither of them moved.

They simply stood there smiling at one another, the kind of ridiculous, involuntary smiles that only appeared when excitement had spent hours building up and suddenly had nowhere else to go. The noise of passing cars, conversations spilling out from nearby cafés, even the music drifting through the restaurant doors seemed to fade into the background.

She was the first to rescue them from the silence.

"So..." she said, tilting her head ever so slightly. "How long have you been here?"

His eyes immediately flickered away. "...Not that long."

She folded her arms. "Lamine."

"What?"

"How long?"

He let out an exaggerated sigh, already knowing he'd been caught. "...Twelve minutes."

Her eyebrows shot up.

"Twelve?"

"I know."

"You told me seven-thirty."

"I also didn't want to be late."

She stepped a little closer, pretending to think it over as she looked up at him.

"So your solution was getting here..." She paused dramatically, as though doing complicated maths in her head. "...twelve whole minutes early?"

"When you say it out loud," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, "it sounds a little embarrassing."

"A little?"

"...Okay." He laughed, surrendering immediately. "Maybe more than a little."

"I can't believe you were just standing out here."

"I wasn't."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I walked around the block."

"That doesn't make it any better."

"It made me feel busy."

"It made you feel less nervous."

He opened his mouth, fully intending to argue.

Nothing came out.

Instead, he looked down at the pavement with a sheepish grin before letting out a quiet laugh through his nose.

"...Yeah."

"I knew it."

"I changed my outfit four times."

She blinked. "You what?"

His face pinched into immediate regret. "...I probably shouldn't have admitted that."

"No," she said with a laugh, shaking her head. "I'm actually really glad you did."

"It gets worse."

Her smile only widened. "Oh?"

"I asked my mum which one looked best."

That was enough to make her laugh outright.

He watched her shoulders shake ever so slightly as she tried—and failed—to hold it back, letting out the most dramatic sigh he could manage.

"You're laughing."

"I'm trying not to."

"You definitely are."

"I'm smiling."

"That's not smiling."

"It absolutely is."

He held her gaze for another second before giving up completely, his own laughter escaping to join hers.

"'You look handsome in all of them,'" he said, slipping into a surprisingly convincing impression of his mum. "'Any girl would be lucky.'"

She pressed a hand over her mouth, still grinning. "That's actually really sweet."

"It wasn't helpful."

"I don't know..." she teased. "I think she was right."

Everything about him seemed to stop.

"...What?"

"You look nice." She said it so casually it almost sounded like an afterthought, giving a small shrug as she glanced at the jacket he'd spent entirely too long deciding on. "I like the jacket."

For a second, he genuinely forgot how to speak.

He'd spent most of the afternoon rehearsing this exact moment in his head.

He'd practiced different greetings in the mirror. Tried convincing himself he'd walk up confidently, say something charming, maybe even make her laugh within the first minute.

Not once—not a single time—had he imagined she'd be the first one to compliment him.

"...Thanks," he managed at last, his voice noticeably quieter than before.

Then, almost instinctively, he looked at her.

Not just a quick glance.

Really looked.

The restaurant behind her blurred into little more than warm lights and movement. The chatter from nearby tables melted into indistinct noise, forgotten almost instantly.

Instead, he noticed the loose strands of hair framing her face, the tiny necklace catching the glow of the streetlights whenever she shifted, the sleeves she'd rolled up because the evening had turned out warmer than expected.

She looked...

His eyebrows knit together. "I had something."

She tilted her head. "What happened to it?"

"It disappeared."

"You can take your time."

"I don't think it's coming back."

She laughed softly. "Poor thing."

"No, seriously." He shook his head, laughing at himself. "I spent the whole drive over here telling myself, don't say anything stupid."

"And?"

"I've already forgotten everything I planned."

"I don't think that's true."

"It definitely is."

"You've managed to speak."

"Barely."

"I understood you."

"That's generous."

She watched him for another moment, the teasing smile on her face slowly softening into something gentler.

"I think you're doing okay."

His eyes met hers. "You do?"

"Mhm."

"I feel like I'm making a terrible first impression."

"I don't."

She answered so quickly that it caught him completely off guard.

"I think..." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear before looking back up at him. "It's actually kind of nice."

He laughed quietly. "What's nice?"

"You don't seem like you're trying to impress me."

He stared at her for a second before letting out another laugh. "I was."

"Were you?"

"Very much."

"It doesn't feel like it."

"Really?"

She nodded.

"You just feel..." She searched for the right word, smiling when she finally found it. "...normal."

His smile came easier this time. "I'll take normal."

"I like normal."

The conversation settled into something quieter after that.

Not an awkward silence.

Just an easy one.

The kind that arrived only after the worst of the nerves had finally worn themselves out, leaving behind something softer. The excitement was still there—if anything, it was stronger now—but it no longer felt like it was trying to trip over every sentence. It simply lingered between them in little smiles, in the way they kept catching each other's eyes for no reason, in the growing realization that talking to each other wasn't nearly as difficult as they'd feared.

Lamine glanced toward the restaurant before looking back at her. "I should probably get the door."

"You don't have to."

"I know."

Even so, he stepped around her, reaching for the handle and pulling it open before holding it there. "My mum would kill me if I didn't."

She laughed as she walked past him. "Then we definitely shouldn't upset your mum."

"I think she'd like you."

The words slipped out so naturally that he didn't even register them until she stopped walking.

His eyes widened. "...That sounded a lot less weird in my head."

She turned back to him, her smile growing warmer in a way that made his stomach perform another series of impossible flips. "I think I'd like her too."

For a brief second, neither of them moved.

Then, almost at the same time, they laughed.

The nervousness that had followed them all evening hadn't disappeared.

It had simply changed.

It no longer felt heavy enough to make them second-guess every word.

Instead, it fluttered somewhere beneath their ribs, light and impossible to ignore, mixing with excitement and the quiet thrill of realizing that maybe, this was exactly how a first date was supposed to feel.

And somehow, before they'd even stepped inside the restaurant, it was already going better than either of them had dared to imagine.

⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

The hostess led them toward a small table tucked beside one of the restaurant's front windows, just far enough from the rest of the dining room that conversations from neighboring tables dissolved into a soft, indistinct murmur. Candles flickered lazily between polished wine glasses, casting warm pools of light across the crisp white tablecloth, while beyond the glass the city drifted by at an unhurried pace, headlights streaking past like tiny ribbons of gold.

It was quieter inside than she'd expected.

Not silent, but comfortable.

The sort of place where nobody felt the need to raise their voice, where the occasional clink of cutlery against porcelain filled the pauses between conversations instead of rushing to erase them. Everything about the restaurant seemed designed to encourage people to linger a little longer.

Lamine waited until she'd settled into her chair before taking the seat across from her. As she unfolded the napkin onto her lap, she looked up at him with a grin that already told him she was about to tease him again. "You really did practice opening the door."

A sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "My mum would've asked."

She tilted her head. "Asked?"

He nodded, slipping into an uncanny imitation of his mother's voice. "'Did you open the door for her?'"

A quiet laugh escaped her. "And you would've told her the truth?"

"I would've had to."

"That's sweet."

He shrugged, suddenly finding the menu far more interesting than meeting her eyes. "I don't know if I'd call it sweet."

"I would."

He smiled to himself, though he made no attempt to argue.

A waiter appeared a moment later, introducing himself before asking if they'd like something to drink while they looked over the menu. Before she could answer, Lamine glanced across the table. "You choose."

She looked up from the drinks list, amused. "What if I choose something terrible?"

"I'll pretend to like it."

"You'd suffer through a bad drink just to be polite?"

"I think I'd survive."

She laughed, lowering her eyes back to the menu. "I don't know if that's reassuring."

"I wasn't trying to reassure you."

"I can tell."

Ordering, they quickly discovered, should've been the easiest part of the evening.

Instead, it somehow became a five-minute discussion over whether they should split a few dishes or each order something different.

"I don't mind sharing," she said eventually, setting her menu down.

"Me neither."

He paused. "But..."

She smiled knowingly.

"But what?"

"What if you don't like what I order?"

She blinked before letting out an amused laugh. "You've actually thought this through."

"I've thought about everything."

"You really were nervous."

"I told you I changed four outfits."

"I know," she said, shaking her head with another laugh, "but I didn't realize the overthinking extended to appetizers."

"It extends to everything."

Resting her chin lightly against her hand, she watched him for a moment, unable to stop smiling. "I think that's kind of adorable."

He groaned dramatically. "Please stop calling me adorable."

"You keep giving me reasons to."

"I was aiming for mysterious."

"I don't think you've ever been mysterious."

"I play football."

"You also asked your mum to help you pick an outfit."

He pointed at her accusingly. "...You said we weren't bringing that up again."

"I lied."

"You did."

"I'm okay with that."

He held her gaze for another second before giving in, laughter slipping out far more easily this time. It was quieter than before, softer somehow, as though the nervousness that had clung to him outside had finally started to loosen its grip.

"I don't think I've laughed this much in weeks."

The admission came so casually that she almost missed it. "Really?"

He nodded, absentmindedly tracing the rim of his water glass with his thumb.

"It's been..." He searched for the words. "Busy."

She understood immediately.

She'd spent enough of her own life moving between airports, backstage dressing rooms, hotels that all blurred together, and cities she barely had time to explore before leaving again. Busy wasn't just having a schedule.

It was waking up one morning and realizing you couldn't remember the last evening you'd spent doing absolutely nothing.

"I'm glad you asked me out then."

His eyes lifted from the table, meeting hers almost instantly. "So am I."

Somewhere between the appetizers and the main course, the conversation quietly stopped feeling like a first date.

There wasn't a clear moment when it happened.

No awkward transition.

No conscious decision to relax.

It simply... happened.

Questions melted into stories. Stories dissolved into laughter. Laughter gave way to comfortable silences that no longer felt like something either of them had to fill.

She learned that when he was eight, he'd become completely convinced he was destined to be a magician after receiving a toy magic kit for Christmas.

"It lasted three days."

She laughed. "What happened?"

"I accidentally showed everyone where I'd hidden the coin."

"You spoiled your own trick?"

"I panicked."

"You were eight."

"I was under pressure."

She smiled into her glass. "I can see that."

He leaned forward slightly.

"What about you?"

She hesitated, smiling to herself before answering. "I wanted to be a veterinarian."

He looked genuinely surprised. "You?"

"Mhm."

"I can actually see that."

"I lasted longer than three days."

"Oh?"

"Until I realized I'd have to..." She gestured vaguely with one hand. "...you know."

He frowned thoughtfully. "Touch animals?"

"No."

"Give them injections?"

She shook her head. "Clean up after them."

The laugh that escaped him was so sudden he had to cover his mouth. "I completely forgot that part existed."

"I didn't."

"So that ruined the dream?"

"It absolutely ruined the dream."

He was still smiling as he shook his head. "I don't think I've ever heard anyone give up on being a veterinarian because of... poop."

She pointed across the table at him. "It was a very important factor."

"I'll remember that."

At some point the waiter returned to refill their glasses.

Neither of them noticed until he politely apologized for interrupting.

She blinked, glancing down at the table.

Their plates were empty.

"When did we finish eating?"

Lamine followed her gaze. "...I don't know."

"I thought I still had fries."

"You definitely ate them."

"I don't even remember doing that."

"I think I stole one."

She gasped dramatically, placing a hand against her chest. "You what?"

"It was only one."

"You thief."

"I was hungry."

"I would've shared."

"I know."

She narrowed her eyes playfully. "So why'd you steal it?"

He looked almost embarrassed.

"...I honestly don't know."

She shook her head, laughing.

"I can't believe this."

"I can buy you another fry."

"One fry?"

"If it'll fix our relationship." The moment the word left his mouth, he froze.

His eyes widened just enough for her to notice.

He opened his mouth.

Closed it again. "...I meant—"

"I know what you meant."

"You do?"

"I hope so."

A relieved breath escaped him. "Good."

She lowered her eyes to her drink, hiding the smile that threatened to spread across her face as a faint flush crept up the back of his neck.

The truth was, she'd been noticing everything about him all evening.

The way he absentmindedly folded the paper wrapper around his straw into tiny little squares whenever he was thinking.

The way his smile always appeared a heartbeat before his laugh.

The way he never interrupted her, even when he looked excited enough to burst.

She noticed that he'd remembered she hated sparkling water from a passing comment she'd made months ago during one of their campaign shoots. She noticed how, every time the waiter came over, he instinctively waited for her to answer first before adding anything himself.

Little things.

Tiny things.

The sorts of details most people overlooked without realizing it.

She found herself collecting every single one.

Across the table, he was quietly doing the exact same thing.

He noticed how she always tucked her hair behind the same ear whenever she became excited about a story. How she'd gradually started talking with her hands without even realizing it. How her smile always arrived a fraction of a second before her laugh, as though her happiness needed just a moment to catch up with itself.

He wondered whether she'd always been like this.

Or whether tonight simply brought something different out of her.

The thought settled somewhere deep in his chest.

Dangerously warm.

He reached for his glass, turning it slowly between his fingers before looking back at her.

"So..."

She met his eyes. "So?"

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I'm having a really nice time."

There was nothing rehearsed about the confession.

No carefully prepared line.

No attempt to make it sound smoother or more charming than it really was.

Just quiet honesty.

She smiled immediately. "I know."

His eyebrows lifted. "You do?"

"I can tell."

A laugh escaped him. "I was trying to play it cool."

"You gave that up about twenty minutes after we met."

"I think it was closer to ten."

"I was being generous."

Leaning back in his chair, he let out an exaggerated sigh. "I don't think I've impressed you once tonight."

She looked at him for a long moment before slowly shaking her head. "I don't think that's true."

"No?"

"You've impressed me the whole time."

His expression softened. "How?"

She smiled, her voice quieter now. "By not trying so hard anymore."

For a moment, he simply looked at her.

Then, almost unconsciously, he smiled too.

Not the nervous smile he'd worn while waiting outside.

Not the embarrassed smile that surfaced whenever she teased him.

This one was warmer.

The kind of smile that only appeared when someone said exactly what you didn't realize you needed to hear.

Neither of them noticed when the waiter quietly slipped the dessert menu onto the table.

Or that nearly two hours had passed since they'd first sat down.

⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

By the time they stepped back onto the sidewalk, Manhattan had traded the chaos of rush hour for something slower.

The streets were still alive, of course they always were, but the sharp urgency that had filled them only a few hours earlier had settled into an easy rhythm. Yellow taxis rolled lazily through intersections, storefronts reflected across rain-darkened pavement from a brief shower earlier that evening, and somewhere down the block, a saxophonist played to a crowd that barely seemed to notice him.

Neither of them suggested calling a car. It wasn't discussed. They just simply started walking.

The conversation wandered as aimlessly as they did, drifting from childhood memories to the embarrassing photos their families still insisted on keeping. Every story seemed to lead to another, and every laugh somehow lasted longer than the one before it. At some point, she'd slipped her phone into her bag without thinking, and it wasn't until much later that she realized neither of them had looked at a screen all evening.

She couldn't remember the last time that had happened.

A comfortable silence settled between them as they crossed another intersection, the city humming quietly around them. It wasn't the awkward kind that demanded filling, nor the polite kind exchanged between strangers. It felt earned—the sort of silence that only arrived after hours of conversation, when simply walking beside someone somehow said enough.

Their hands brushed once, then twice, and the third time, neither of them moved away.

Lamine glanced down for only a second before looking back at her, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Can I...?"

He didn't finish the sentence.

He didn't need to.

She smiled, turning her hand just enough for their fingers to fit together naturally.

"There," she teased. "That looked difficult."

"It was."

"No, it wasn't."

"You don't understand," he laughed, shaking his head. "I've been trying to do that for, like... twenty minutes."

She looked up at him, unable to stop herself from smiling. "Seriously?"

"I kept talking myself out of it."

"You overthink everything."

"I do."

"I've noticed."

He let out a quiet laugh, giving her hand the smallest squeeze. "I'm working on it."

"I think you're doing alright."

The words lingered between them long after the conversation moved on.

By the time they reached her hotel, neither of them seemed particularly eager to acknowledge that the night had come to an end. They slowed almost instinctively, as though walking a little more slowly might somehow buy them another few minutes together.

"I had a really good time," he admitted, his voice quieter than it had been all evening.

She looked at him, warmth blooming somewhere deep in her chest. "I did too."

A smile spread across his face. Small, genuine, impossible not to return.

"So..." He shifted his weight, suddenly looking just a little uncertain again. "Would it be... too soon if I asked when I could see you again?"

She laughed softly. "I was starting to wonder if you were going to."

His shoulders relaxed almost immediately.

"So that's a yes?"

"It's definitely a yes."

The grin that broke across his face was so unguarded that it made her laugh all over again. "I'll text you?"

"You'd better."

"I was planning on it."

She took a few steps backward toward the hotel entrance before stopping, reluctant to disappear inside just yet. "Goodnight, Lamine."

"Goodnight."

She watched him turn the corner before finally heading inside.

Halfway to the elevators, her phone buzzed.

She glanced down.

⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

She laughed to herself as the elevator doors slid open, stepping inside with a smile she already knew would be impossible to wipe off for the rest of the night.

Long after she'd changed into pajamas.

Long after she'd crawled into bed.

Long after she'd told herself to stop replaying the evening in her head.