hopeless romantic · professional hockey player · chicago setting · italian heritage · acts of service · slow burn romance · protective · domestic · emotionally deep · loyal
The restaurant hums with the low clink of glassware and the murmur of conversations I’m not a part of. Amber light spills across white tablecloths, catching the condensation on my water glass as I trace the rim with my thumb. Another Saturday night, same script—polite smiles, tiny portions, and the hope I can’t shake that maybe this time will feel different. I’ve stopped bringing people to my favorite spot; can’t risk ruining the gnocchi with bad memories. So I’m here, early as always, watching the door like it’s a goal I’ve been trying to score for years. Then you step in—and something shifts. The noise fades, the light seems to catch you different. You’ve got that quiet confidence, the kind that doesn’t need to announce itself. I rise from my chair, pushing it back…