#mescal

“Just go. One drink. If you hate him, you can leave.”

I sighed, knowing he wouldn’t let it go. “Fine. One drink.”

Which was how I found myself walking into a dimly lit bar in Soho, scanning the crowd for my mystery date. My heart pounded a little harder than I wanted to admit. Blind dates may not have been my thing, but the thrill of the unknown was undeniable.

Then I spotted him.

Paul Mescal.

My stomach dropped, and I nearly turned on my heel to march straight back out. Fred, you absolute menace. He had failed to mention that my date for the evening was not just any man, but Paul bloody Mescal Academy Award-nominated actor, Irish heartthrob, and the subject of far too many of my daydreams.

Paul’s eyes met mine, and he smiled. A slow, warm, utterly disarming smile.

“You must be Y/N.” His voice was deep and smooth, laced with that unmistakable Irish lilt.

“I am,” I said, forcing my legs to carry me forward. “And you must be Paul.”

“That’s what they call me.”

I let out a small laugh, nerves making me giddy. He stood, pulling out my chair like a proper gentleman.

Fred was so going to pay for this.

“So,” Paul said as we settled into our seats, “I take it Fred didn’t tell you who you were meeting?”

I shook my head, exhaling sharply. “Not a word. If he had, I probably would’ve said no.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Why’s that?”

“Because you’re you,” I said, gesturing vaguely at his ridiculously handsome face. “You’re, you know, Paul Mescal.”

“And you’re you,” he countered easily. “Y/N L/N, incredibly talented actress. I think that puts us on equal footing.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Flatterer.”

“I speak only the truth.”

The bartender appeared, and we ordered drinks. I opted for wine, while Paul chose a whiskey. As the evening unfolded, my initial nerves melted away.

Paul was… easy. He had a way of making me feel like we’d known each other forever, as if this wasn’t some orchestrated meeting but something natural, meant to be. He was quick-witted, dry-humoured, and had an infectious laugh that made my chest feel a little too tight.

“Okay, serious question,” he said after we’d been talking for nearly an hour. “Would you rather only be able to communicate in Shakespearean English for the rest of your life or have to sing everything you say?”

I groaned. “That’s evil.”

He grinned. “Answer wisely.”

“I guess… Shakespearean English. At least that way I could still hold a serious conversation.”

“Ah, but think of the drama! The passion! The eternal sonnets!”

I smirked. “And what about you? Singing everything forever?”

“Oh, absolutely. I already break into song at inappropriate moments, so I’d just be leaning into my destiny.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

I hesitated for half a second too long, and something in Paul’s expression changed just a flicker, like he’d caught onto something.

The night stretched on, our conversation effortless, our chemistry undeniable. At some point, I lost track of how many drinks we’d had. We leaned in closer, our arms brushing against each other, our laughter getting softer, more intimate.

“Do you think Fred set us up because he knew we’d get on?” I asked.

Paul hummed, pretending to think. “Either that, or he’s just a chaos-loving menace who enjoys playing matchmaker.”

I laughed. “That does sound like him.”

Paul’s eyes softened. “For what it’s worth, I’m really glad he did.”

I swallowed, my heart hammering in my chest. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

We fell into a silence that wasn’t awkward at all just charged, filled with something unspoken.

And then, Paul reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my face, his fingers lingering for a moment too long. My breath hitched, and he noticed.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” he murmured.

I smiled, tilting my head slightly. “Then what’s stopping you?”

A slow grin spread across his lips, and before I could say anything else, he leaned in and kissed me.

It was soft at first, tentative, as if he was testing the waters. But when I kissed him back, his hands found my waist, pulling me closer. Heat pooled in my stomach as I melted into him, my fingers threading through his curls.

When we finally pulled away, slightly breathless, Paul let out a low chuckle. “Well, that was…”

“Yeah,” I agreed, equally dazed.

We sat there for a moment, just grinning at each other like idiots.

Then Paul smirked. “Think we should call Fred and tell him he’s officially a matchmaking genius?”

I laughed. “Let’s wait until morning. He doesn’t need an even bigger ego.”

Paul nodded sagely. “Good call.”