#on sundays she picked flowers

[prisonhannibal]

Jude and Nemoira from On Sundays She Picked Flowers by @fluoresensitive! Jude made Nemoira that cute blouse and she made it with LOVE!!

If you've followed me for a while you might remember that I did the art for the hardcover version of the book in 2022 (!!! such an exciting and fun project to work on) This was one of the early concepts that we didn't end up using, but I found the sketch and decided to finish it for fun <3 If you still haven't read On Sundays go read it right now! You can buy it here

[fluoresensitive]

ON SUNDAYS, SHE PICKED FLOWERS, YAH YAH SCHOLFIELD: LINER NOTES, PATREON EXCLUSIVE

There is no such thing as art without inspiration. We are a visual and sensual people, likely to draw influence and ideas from the most benign of experiences. A piece of music, a photograph, a painting— you cannot get through the process of writing without having had something guide your aesthetics.

On Sundays, She Picked Flowers is a culmination of eight years of watching, listening, and observing. It is the end result of my being raised in the Black baptist church, of generational violence and trauma, of my lived experiences as a very lonely, and a little touched, Black lesbian. You can't separate these truths from the novel. I am Black, so my characters are Black and do Black things and have Black thoughts, Black experiences. I'm a lesbian and so my characters tend to be lesbians, tend to see the world through pink-white-orange lenses, even if they don't have the language we have now in 2024.

Finally, after all these years of watching and listening and observing, I can show off my non-exhaustive list of inspirations and influences for On Sundays, She Picked Flowers. Likely, there will be more— I still have plans for showing off the three playlists I made— but for now, there are these movies, videos, books and a few articles that have informed the novel.

[luxurypartystuffpack]

judith and nemoira, from 'on sundays she picked flowers'

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

On Sundays, She Picked Flowers -- Review

Recently, I finished On Sundays, She Picked Flowers by the amazing Yah Yah Scholfield ( @fluoresensitive )

When Judith Rice killed her mother, she thought she put an end to the woman's hold on her. Seventeen years later, secluded deep in the woods of northern Georgia, Jude knows that the past isn't all that easy to discard. Alone with her strange house and even stranger woods, Jude must grapple with ghosts, haints, beasts, and an enigmatic woman who threatens to undo the tentative peace Jude's built for herself by fanning the violence that lives just underneath her skin.

I've been a fan of Yah Yah's for quite some time, how could I not be when I'm a horror lover? I've long awaited the release of On Sundays, having seen every update, I told all my friends about it the moment it was published, and I even have more than one copy in my home.

One of my favourite things about Yah Yah's work is how visceral it all is, something that's more than showcased in On Sundays. Visceral is a fitting description for many reasons, not only because I can feel the greenery of the woods beneath my skin, feel the rattling of a house whose haunting is architectural deep in my bones. But I can also feel the sharpness of the knife used to skin animals and cut throats, taste the stew Jude cooks from fresh liver left in pile of blood and viscera on her porch. It left me feeling hungry.

On Sundays also has haunted houses, but not in the traditional sense, and it's a ghost story, but not in the traditional sense. There are no pale specters floating down hallways of the house, but its inhabitants are haunted and hunted by the past, by trauma, and the house itself alive is sickly. It evokes the feelings of Jacob Geller's video essay Control, Anatomy, and the Legacy of the Haunted House, and it seems fitting that in On Sundays Jude is reading The Haunting of the Hill House.

And it would be remiss not to touch on the beast, the bear, Nemoira. A beast stalking you in the woods is a terror I've long loved and explored in my own writing. Everything about the beast and Nemoira is perfect and satisfies a deep love of mine, from the bloodied gifts left on porch steps to the mysterious woman showing up at the door during a rainstorm to the danger of forgetting that the woman you love is the same as the beast who pressed its teeth to your neck. I'm always reminded of some lyrics from Tamino's song Persephone,

And you've noticed it There is something right here You have come to love, yes you've come to love What you always will fear

I cannot recommend enough that you all buy On Sundays, She Picked Flowers and get the chance to read a beautiful and visceral gothic horror novel.

[girldickdotcom]

listening to the playlist yah yah scofield made after reading on sunday she picked flowers and i have like suchh a vivid picture in my head of a movie version. the trailer would use nfwmb by hozier (no idea who would play jude but i think at least visually solange would make a rlly good nemoira?) and music would never play at judes childhood home except for dont let me be misunderstood in chapter one and an eerie quiet rendition at the climax again, but music constantly plays in the woods and judes cottage. maybe rae dawn chong for one of judes aunties or her mom? the house is very saturated in the initial scenes, i can imagine a very giallo esque shot of blood running across the black and white kitchen floor and shots out the window of radio noise, but its all desaturated and colder when they come back later. the forest is initially dark and blue tinted but it warms up and saturates the longer jude is there. also no death by mirel wagner has to play somewhere idc where maybe an instrumentsl version is nemoiras leitmotif idk. i should direct a movie

[wiproaringreading]

Silouettes for the FrenzyJan BPC

[r0sebutch]

id from alt text: the hardcover book "On Sundays, She Picked Flowers". the cover features a human silhouette between a dark, verdant forest and a warm, strange house. one of the windows has an enormous hand pressed to the glass, and two others feature eyes looking at the silhouette.

finally finished on sundays. everyone read this book immediately or else. i need to go take like four naps at the same time

[werewolfetone]

Sometimes you just read a book that feels like it rewires your brain and that's that

[evendrierguys]

i love when people in horror media are like "idk what animal this meat came from but it's so tasty" buddy you and i both know it's people

[greppelheks]

exciting week ahead!!!!!!💖🥰🌺🌱✨

[digitaldiseas3]

i’m sick of wasting fucking money holy shit. euros must be fuckin cursed for me or something because what the fuck

[andersonfilms]

firefighter!abby who comes in every sunday morning to your floral shop, tucked in a tiny corner downtown. you’re usually tucked away in the back, doing floral arrangements, calculating your inventory, organizing new shipments, or just avoiding others in general. an introverted nature is ingrained into your bones. so, dina takes over the front counter. she’s sweet, kind enough to engage in conversation. big brown eyes and welcoming smile always seeming to put the customer’s at ease, assessing their needs as they step foot in the door. 

firefighter!abby who comes in on the dot, half-past nine, right before her shift. her build, incredibly tone, clad in black cargos and her seattle fire department t-shirt tucked in. she greets dina with her blinding, pearly white smile. warming her up to the core as dina grabs the assortment that’s ordered every week. yellow roses, white lillies, and peach carnations make their way into the abby’s hands. she thanks dina, with the same somber look in her eyes before she exits with the same bouquet she always does. 

firefighter!abby who is out for the day, cup of coffee in her hand, ellie to her right telling her about the black-haired beauty she met at the local pub. swearing up and down there was a cute friend, supposedly, but it really just sounds like this is her only way in which her friend needs to enlist help from the hunky-blonde for assistance. 

“So, let me get this straight. You met this girl—” 

“Dina.” Abby pauses, blonde eyebrows quirk upwards. “Wait, does she work at a floral shop?” 

“Yes—” Ellie pauses, envy swirling in her emerald eyes immediately, “Fuck, Anderson, do not tell me you’ve fucked her!” 

Abby smirks, wanting to tease her spunky friend. “C’mon, are you fucking serious? No. Shit. Did you really fuck her?” Abby winks as she takes a sip of her black coffee, bicep flexing in the process. 

“Dude. How the hell am I supposed to compete with your greek god  fucking biceps?” Ellie lifts up the sleeve of her shirt, comparing her much smaller arms to Abby’s very toned and thick muscle. Even Abby’s veins are more prominent than hers. 

Abby giggles, “First off, you can’t but you don’t have to…this time. I just buy flowers from there and everyone kinda knows everyone. It’s Jackson.” 

“Oh, thank god. You had me worried there for a second. Jesus.” Ellie nudges her shoulder, picking at her naibeds anxiously. “So, will you come so you can meet her friend?” 

Abby thinks for a moment. How bad could it be? It’s just one night, right? 

firefighter!abby who comes to the flower shop on a saturday this time. the doorbell rings signaling her entrance, but she doesn’t find dina working the counter like she normally does. you’re someone new, someone she hasn’t seen before, someone beautiful. so much so, she feels as if her feet have been glued to the hardwood floors. dear god, she looks like a goddamn idiot. she’s thankful you’re helping someone as abby tries to break from her caulking spell. 

firefighter!abby who takes note of how attentive you are with the customers even if your body fidgets as you help them but then you smile, it makes her melt. anderson, get yourself together, you have a date tonight. it’s just one, incredibly beautiful girl. you’re fine. she’s fine. before her brain can make one more stupid thought, you’re walking up to her. 

You smell of lavender, it coats Abby’s senses as you make a beeline for her. It could be the shop or it could be you. She believes it’s you. 

“Afternoon, is there something I can help you with?” You ask, Abby reads the name tag on your chest and musters up somewhat of a coherent sentence. You start making the arrangement for her, it’s then she notices how familiar it is. 

It isn’t the flowers she typically chooses, the one she orders through the website of the shop, but the craftsmanship is identical. Down to the yellow ribbon to wrap it neatly, keeping the specially made bouquet in place. 

Abby’s blue eyes must light up with wonder because you smile, it's soft as it slips out of you, too quick for you to hide behind the wall you usually keep yourself within. 

“Um, you make all the arrangements here, right?” Anxiously, you dust your hands on the maroon apron tied around your waist. 

“Yeah, I would hope so. It’s my shop.” You’re not boastful about it, or snarky, it’s sweet. As if you’re proud and you should be. 

“Oh, sorry! I hope you don’t take it the wrong way. I just, um—” Speak blondie, you’re making a fool of yourself. “ I come here every week and have just never seen you before s’all. It’s nice to match the wonderful shop to the even prettier owner.” 

Abby wonders why she doesn’t ask for your number or even try to. She’s not exactly a stranger to beautiful women. When she knows what she wants, she’s like a dog with a bone. Never has she ever halted, or had someone stop her dead in her tracks without even trying. 

In her mind, she’s finding excuses. It’s the sun’s fault for letting the light hit your eyes perfectly, saturating the color even further. Or the way she obsesses over your curves, or the joy seeming to radiate every time you smile. 

It can’t be any of those little things. 

Abby fishes for the wallet in her jacket pocket, before handing you her card, you finalize the transaction before handing the silver card back to her. Calloused fingertips press against yours, much softer than Abby’s, but it excites the two of you. 

Not that either of you spoke a word of it. 

“You’re girlfriend’s a lucky girl. It’s a thoughtful gesture—” but your eyes build a fright in them, a horror that you can’t take back. “I’m sorry! Oh my god. I didn’t mean to just, fuck, assume you had a girlfriend or that you’re into girls. Jesus, I don’t know what came over me. God.” 

Abby bites down a smirk as you anxiously beat your nail on the countertop as if you ruined the interaction. Impatiently needing this to be over. 

“S’okay, really, you didn’t assume wrong.” Mischievous pools of blue look you up and down, pointed canines kissing her pink lips as they bite at the flesh. 

“I don’t have a girlfriend. Well—” Abby leans over placing her palm against yours, her fingertips linger on your skin, setting it ablaze. Releasing your grip of the bouquet and palming the wrapped flowers in her firm grasp.

“Not yet.” 

lmk what you think! hope you enjoyed it! ♡

[chrisevansonly]

Extra Special (Lando’s Poppy AU)

lando norris x female reader

summary: lando’s just won another grand prix and his baby girl couldn’t be more excited

warnings: none very cute and fluffy

a/n: i know i’ve been slacking but i hope you all enjoy this, it was requested and it’s a little small but i really wanted to get something out 😭🩷

You’d watched the race on the flatscreen in the living room with Poppy cuddled into your side, she loved watching her dad race on Sundays and seeing him pop up on the big screen during interviews.

They were racing in Saudi Arabia, and Lando had been having a brilliant race, after qualifying with pole position, he’d managed to win the race ahead of Max Verstappen, or uncle Max as he called himself.

“Poppy my love! Daddy won!”

The six month giggled and clapped her hands as she watched the screen, the perfect time for you to take your phone out, just as Lando arrived for his post race interview.

“Who’s that my love hmm? Is that Daddy?”

You panned the camera from the TV over to Poppy who was a smiley mess, within a few seconds she pointed at the screen

“Dada!”

The first thing that ran through you was shock, Poppy had just said her first word, and you’d caught it on camera.

“What did you say baby?!”

Picking her up and kissing her cheek she babbled again before patting your shoulder as her eyes moved back to stare at Lando

“Dada!!”

“Yeah baby! That’s dada!! Oh he’s going to be so sad he missed this!!”

Kissing her cheeks a few more times you sat back down with her and sent the video off to Lando. It wasn’t until a little while later that he facetimed you, his expression was priceless

“Tell me that video was real”

“It was real my love..”

Lando’s hand swiped over his face as you turned the phone to Poppy who smiled

“Hi petal, did you say your first word?!”

“Dada!!”

She squealed happily and you swore you could see his eyes start to shine with happy tears

“Holy shit..god-i don’t even know what to say”

You cooed as your husband shook his head before blinking a few times

“Well I don’t want to cry before the podium, but I’m coming home to you two right after this..and fuck I can’t wait to hear her say that in person…”

“We love you very much baby and are so so proud of you…get home safely”

Lando nodded before blowing both of you a kiss

“I love you both so much, i’ll be home soon.”

Poppy reached for the phone and tried to put the camera in her mouth, obviously trying to kiss her father goodbye, which earned a laugh from Lando before the facetime ended.

“My sweet Poppy you made daddy’s race extra special”

She might not have understood what you said, but you’d never miss the way her eyes lit up at the mention of Lando, she really was his little flower, the two of them having such an inseparable bond.

You couldn’t even be upset she didn’t say mama first, because Lando’s reaction was worth more than anything in the world.

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

anyways before i go to bed. if people want, i can give my Thoughts on On Sundays, She Picked Flowers in the morning. I finished reading it the other day and god. I love it so much.

[celaenaeiln]

JL: Nightwing! It’s a delight to see you! You should come by more often.

Nightwing: Thank you! I’m so sorry, work has been piling up on me but I’ll try to drop by the office party this Sunday.

JL: Ofcourse! Looking forward to seeing you there. By the way, is Batman coming late?

Nightwing: No, I’ll be filling in for him today.

JL: Did something happen?

Nightwing: Nothing much, he’s just grounded.

JL: ???

48 hours earlier

Dick: Bruce, I’m telling you now and we’ve had this conversation before but you need to build a better rapport with your children. They look up to you as a father figure and your actions influence their behavior.

Bruce: …hmrgh

Dick: And you might not be aware but you unconconscious behavior is damaging. Tim has picked up your terrible habit of constantly working in front of a screen-it’s going to strain his eyes. He’s always inside too, so you need to make him go outside more. I’m not always here, I have an entire city to run, the titans need me, I'm mentoring hundreds of heroes, the Justice League calls on me to help them, and I need to keep up with my social life. The people in Bludhaven where I teach and work also call me if I’m gone for a day-the point is-I can’t always be playing second parent here in Gotham.

Bruce: ……hmrgh

Dick: Damian always looks up to you

Bruce: *side eyes*

Dick: He does! See you don’t even realize it! He wants to make you proud and Jason gets mad when you don’t make time for him because he cares too. Stephanie doesn’t have a dad she can turn to and it would mean the world to her if you took her out to an amusement park or something. When was the last time you spent time with her.

Bruce: ….hmrgh

Dick: And-

1 hour later

Dick: -that’s why you need to stop working, go to them right now, and bond with them.

Bruce:

Dick:

Bruce: ……...hmrgh

Dick: I’m waiting.

Bruce: *dragging himself off the batcave chair and begrudgingly trudging upstairs under Dick’s watchful eye*

Bruce: *listening to the sounds of his kids in the living room and pumping himself up* Better relationships mean better teamwork. Better relationships mean better teamwork. Better relationships mean better teamwork. And Dick. Do it for him.

Bruce: *entering* *clearing his throat* Children. We will be going-

*The living room is in utter chaos. The cushions are strewn and ripped with stuffing coating the couches and floor which for some reason is stained yellow, the flower vase is shattered and so is the table it was sitting on, there’s string confetti on the chandelier, there’s spray paint and neon goo across the walls and in Tim’s hair, Jason has deep claw marks down his face as he wrestles with Damian who’s sporting massive bruise on his cheek and trying his hardest to bite him, Stephanie is dunking Tim’s face in a tub of soda which splashed everywhere while he’s ripping out Jason’s hair and also trying to kick Damian with his foot, the tv has massive spiderwebs and looping on tellatubies like a broken record machine, Titus is spitting out a feather while a random goose runs around honking while Alfred the cat chases after it at full speed, knocking down decades old paintings.*

Bruce:

Bruce:

Bruce:

Bruce: *rolling up his sleeves and stomping forward to join the fight* HMRGH.

[jo-harrington]

Breadsticks (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Pairings/Relationships: Older!Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Summary: Eddie picks you up for a date that'll cheer you up. He promises.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings/Themes: Modern Timeline, Established Relationship, Food/Eating, Silliness, Fluff, Reader having a little bit of a bad day, Hurt/Comfort

Note: I don't normally do requests but if @hearsegrrl says she's feeling a little down and needs a little fic pick me up then I need to make her feel better OBVIOUSLY. Especially when she brings so much joy to the fandom with her art. So before you read this--and in fact, YOU MUST DO IT BEFORE YOU READ THIS--go ahead and say THANK YOU RACHEL! For everything she does.

(Hope you enjoy this baby. I know you're vegan...but I went hard with the cheese. Literally. <3)

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

When your relationship with Eddie went from friendship to the talking stages to the moment when he would actually become your boyfriend--

"Aren't we a little too old for that?"

"Call me boyfriend, partner, comrade, soulmate. Whatever you want, sweetheart. Just don't call me late for dinner."

--he made you a list of promises. As though he had to make a deal with you to convince you that he was the right fit for a relationship; as though you'd ever turn him away.

But one of the things on that list of promises was a promise to cheer you up when you were down, and although you insisted that sometimes that promise would be impossible to keep, he insisted that he could try.

"It's the least I could do when you let me see your boobs whenever I want," he joked, earning playful slaps and then a stupidly lovesick kiss.

Tonight, though, was the first opportunity for him to put his money where his mouth was.

It had been a bad day, a bad week, and you were tired. Too tired to entertain questions and conversations with all of your friends, and because of that, you canceled plans to go out with the group on Sunday. I'm just not feeling good. It was simple and everyone understood, told you to feel better; Eddie, though, was immediately texting to see if you needed anything.

Soup, ginger ale, aspirin, a tummy rub; whatever you wanted it was yours. He could be at your place in an hour.

You smiled fondly and stared at the message for a second, then at the blinking cursor in the text box; normally there would be a sense of dread at the barrage of questions that would come if you tried to explain that you weren't that kind of not feeling good.

But Eddie had always been good at not pushing the boundaries.

You typed your reply and he was lightning fast with his own response.

How about dinner? Just the two of us. I know the perfect place.

And wasn't that the damned truth? Eddie always knew the perfect place. Perfect places for dates, parks for picnics, places to park his van and fool around.

How could you say no to him?

Perfect boyfriend was perfect. Fucker.

An hour later he was pulling up outside your building and holding the passenger's side door open for you as you emerged from your pit.

"I'd have gotten you flowers to cheer you up," he started his greeting. "But I know you hate grocery store flowers, so..."

"Yeah I would have turned and gone right back inside, but the thought is appreciated," you sassed.

"I'll just have to get you a bouquet of something else next time you need cheering up." He pressed a kiss to your temple and then gestured for you to hop inside.

There was music playing--conspicuously an artist you liked that he typically shit on you for, and not one of his ultra-specific, niche metal bands--and slurpees in the cup holders--his coke and cherry, yours grape--and the A/C was churning the perfect temperature in the cab.

"You sure you're not just trying to get lucky tonight?" you asked as he got back into the driver's seat to head to dinner. "Because I'm tallying some serious boyfriend points here."

He scoffed and pressed a hand to his chest in mock affront.

"Moi? Looking for sex? Don't be ridiculous; my virtue is intact." He batted his eyelashes coquettishly and then shifted the gear to drive when you snorted a laugh. "No, tonight is all about making you feel better."

"I don't really want to talk about what happened though," you blurted out, brain shifting to defense mode automatically. You closed your eyes and sighed. "Sorry...it was just..."

"Nope! Don't worry!" Eddie cut you off. "I don't need to know unless you wanna tell me. You make the rules here. I'm just the trusty chauffeur tonight. And court jester. And bankroll for all your culinary desires."

You melted into the seat and stared at his profile for a second, illuminated by streetlights. He'd already made you feel better in the last 10 minutes than you had all week.

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye and then said, "I promise, you're gonna love this place."

"Oh yeah?"

"A Munson family tradition for special occasions. Birthdays. What haves you. Wayne is gonna be jealous we're going without him."

---

It was Olive Garden.

Your perfect idiot boyfriend took you to Olive Garden.

"Not just Olive Garden," Eddie held his hands out defensively at your questioning stare. "Never Ending Pasta Bowl at Olive Garden. The premiere event of the year. I would've worn a suit...but I figured that it would be rude of me to expect you to dress up when you said you weren't feeling great. So..."

He trailed off and his jovial expression fell, and you felt bad as his body language changed from silly to nervous.

It wasn't that you didn't like Olive Garden; it was just unexpected.

Actually, it was one of your favorite stupid places to eat right along with a shopping mall food court and, believe it or not, Chuck E. Cheese. A mid-tier chain restaurant with endless breadsticks? It was heaven. In fact, you're pretty sure that early on in your friendship with Eddie, you went on a weed-induced rant about the pillowy-softness and garlicky goodness that was an Olive Garden breadstick.

Had he remembered that? Squirreled that information away for all this time?

No...it couldn't be...

"So can I order mozzarella sticks too?" you asked tentatively. "Or in true spirit of the Never-ending Pasta Bowl, am I only limited to infinite rigatoni?"

Eddie's nerves melted and his smile bloomed once again.

You liked it when he smiled; it was infectious. You could feel the corners of your lips quirking too, until you were grinning right back at him.

"I think it's called fried mozzarella, actually," he said and wrapped an arm around your waist so he could lead you in. "You can have anything your heart desires tonight."

He wasn't kidding.

Mozzarella sticks, and soup and salad and breadsticks, and an italian margarita.

And then all the pasta you could ever dream of.

Eddie was ultra attentive; overly attentive, even. But he still kept his signature Munson charm and tomfoolery.

He asked the server for parm because he knew you would get self-conscious about the unholy volumes of cheese you'd desire on your food.

He made you laugh with a 10-minute hypothesis about the process of never-ending fettuccini and how there must be a barrel sized spool with one singular fettucino that they unraveled and cut into appropriate portions upon order.

He always made sure to ask for more breadsticks and insisted that you got first pick from the fresh basket.

He did a magic trick with balled up paper napkins that were shoved into his ears and then spat out from his mouth. (One was also extracted from his nose causing the child at a nearby table to start clapping).

And finally, when all was said and done and it was time to pay, you were forced to cover your face bashfully as he extracted not one, not two, but three pictures of you from his wallet before he found his card.

"What?" he asked, lovingly tucking the polaroids and photo booth film strips back into the worn leather bi-fold. "How else am I supposed to spontaneously construct an altar to worship you if I don't have your picture handy."

It healed your soul. One joke and mouthful of carby, tomatoey goodness at a time. It was silly and it was everything you needed in the moment to make the hell that was your week better.

He even got you to talk about everything that made you upset. It just started spewing out your mouth as you aggressively skewered fusilli onto your fork. He gave you all the time and space you needed to say "damn this" and "fuck that" about all the little things that built up to one big, obnoxiously shitty week until you felt the weight lift off your shoulders.

Usually when you got into your moods, it would've been impossible.

But did you expect him to do anything less than impossible?

Towards the end of your visit, Eddie popped to the bathroom, and while he was gone your server stopped by to see if there was anything else you needed.

"Any to-go containers or mints or maybe some more breadsticks?"

"Don't worry," Eddie's voice echoed through the dining room. "I've already got that covered."

You turned in your seat and you weren't sure what you expected, but what you found certainly wasn't it.

Eddie stood there, proudly presenting a bouquet of breadsticks, each one skewered with an uncooked spaghetti noodle and bound prettily with a bow made out of a plastic bag.

He closed the distance and dropped to one knee and then presented it to you with a wink, "I told you I'd have to find some other kind of bouquet to get you besides flowers."

There was some back and forth about Jeff's assistant manager buddy and where you'd fit this in your fridge, before you leant over and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you," you whispered and nuzzled your nose against his skin.

"You feeling better?" he asked.

"Yeah," you nodded. "It was the best date I've ever had."

And it would be.

Until the next one.