“Oh really, interesting,” I said, twisting my straw in the water. Here’s some advice if you’re planning on dating someone more “professional,” or “accomplished.” Don’t do it. This was most plausibly the most boring guy in the world. He spent his afternoons bird watching. And before you say anything else like, “Oh my gosh that’s so cute, did you have a romantic picnic in the park?” No. He just stared out his gray apartment window watching pigeons. I had stopped listening to what he was saying moments ago, letting my mind wander. This was my third failed date. The first guy was too self-obsessed, the second guy… well, he lived with his parents as an example. And now this guy, Gary. I know, I know, you don’t have to tell me. I should’ve seen this coming. He was talking about economics and his boring business job, it was hard not to fall asleep. He’d taken me to a classy restaurant where the steak tasted like sawdust. Like they went to Texas Roadhouse, bought the tiniest steak possible, left it in the fridge for a few days, took it out, warmed it up in the microwave, overpriced it, and gave it to me. “And then when I pulled the paper out of the drawer for the printer, it was bent! Kamryn?” He cleared his throat, and I looked over at him. “Oh, hahaha.” He smiled at me. This idiot didn’t get the hint. I decided to mess with him. “I’m gonna go to the, uh, ladies' room for a moment. Be back in a tish.” Tish? Since when did I become an old British woman? I stood up, my brown hair falling in curls around my shoulders. I had been told multiple times I looked like I came straight out of the 20s. It was probably because of how I did my hair. I can’t describe it, but you know how 20s hair looked right? I was wearing a sparkly red dress with a small slit. “Excuse me, waiter? Yes, you, please tell that man over there he is boring and can’t take a hint.” The guy nodded unsurely. “Thank you.” I excused myself through the restaurant covered in fairy lights. I bumped into a man wearing an old-fashioned blue and black striped suit and a fedora hat. “Excuse me,” I said, pushing past him. He gently held my arm. “It’s you.” I gave him a puzzled look. “I don't have time for questions now, follow me.” Here's the thing. I didn't have to go with him, he didn't make me, but I was curious. He waited for me outside. “Well?” I crossed my arms. He held out his hand. “Follow me.” I looked back at the glowing light of the restaurant. What did I have to lose? I took his outstretched hand, and he pulled me close, putting his arm around me. Lifting a small, glowing, blue and purple orb to the sky, he twisted the top, and we were gone.

“Fancy seeing you here, hmm?” Kiera asks, sliding into the seat across from me. Her hair, redder than the blood I’ve seen her spill, is done up in a fashionable bun. Her ice blue eyes clash with her deep green dress, and it pains me to say but she looked good. “I think we can both agree it’s strange to be face to face without one of us trying to kill the other,” I say, flipping through my menu. During our last… meeting (fight almost to the death that left me sore for days) she agreed to meet me for dinner to discuss a possible peace agreement. “Well, I think it’s nice. And… well… you clean up good, Shawn.” “Sorry, did the great Shadow just call me handsome?” I tease, rather pleased my hours of work getting ready and picking the best outfit paid off. She laughs, and maybe even reddens? “You wish, Sunny.” “That’s Mr. Solar to you! And you look really pretty, too,” I mutter, burying my face in the menu so she won’t see me blush. We spend the next few minutes discussing a possible truce. “I can’t stop now. You now the government has no right to control lives like they do!” Kiera says. “Well, yeah…” I sputter, “But killing all those innocents doesn’t make it any better.” “Are you two ready to order?” Our waiter asks, fixing his black tie. “I’ll get the vegan pasta, please,” I say, handing him my menu. “Same for me, thanks.” “Of course! I’ll have that right out for you,” he says, the walks off leaving me stunned. “Hold on, Kiera, are you vegan?” I ask. “Yeah, have been since I was ten and realized what was in chicken nuggets,” She answers, looking a little green at the memory. “No way! When I was nine I walked past a butcher’s shop and saw all the hanging meat. Vegan ever since,” I laugh. We smile and go back to the peace agreement. Thirty minutes later, we are still talking in circles. “Your dinners, plus some ambience for the two lovebirds,” Our waiter says, placing down our plates as a violin quartet walks up. Kiera glares at me, “You didn’t.” “Oh, but I did. Care for a dance?” I offer, then sweep her into a waltz. “Who knew, the corrupt government’s golden boy can dance!” “And so can the city’s most wanted criminal.” “You know, if we weren’t mortal enemies… we could actually, maybe, have a relationship beyond hatred. Not that you’re against everything I fight for,” Kiera murmurs. “Your not wrong, Nightlight,” I breathe, in shock that this is actually happening. Kiera is here, alive, in my arms. And I’m… happy? “Nightlight?” “Well, yeah. You’re kinda mean and mysterious, but not nearly as dark as you make yourself out to be.” She smiles and right then I realize… I can no longer picture hurting this girl. But that doesn’t mean I can just give up on everything I believe in… does it? An hour later, the dinner (the meeting, the date???) is over and we both begin to walk in opposite directions. “So long, Sunny!” Kiera, no, Shadow calls. “See ya next time, Nightlight,” I call back, desperately trying to stop the disappointment at our separation. Little did I now I’d be begging her for help a week later, aftering learning she was right about the king, the government, everything.

I swirl my glass of Cabernet wine, plastering an interested smile on my face as my date continues droning on about the monotonous and uninspiring life of a corporate office worker.

The man’s pathetic, really. He’s been complaining about his boss and his job for the past hour, never once asking me a question or even noticing my waning attention. I can tell he’s the kind of guy who lacks the drive to change things, the type who goes through life blaming the world for not bending to his will.

I glance at my phone, willing it to ring—praying for some call to rescue me with a solid, undeniable excuse to leave. But, of course, it never comes.

Just my luck.

I sigh and look around the restaurant, noting the intimate atmosphere most people seem to be enjoying. Couples share candlelit conversations, their whispers blending with the faint jazz music playing in the background. The marbled floors gleam under golden chandeliers, and the windows lining the walls frame a glittering view of the city skyline. Everything about this place screams romance—except for my table, where my date continues to drown in his own self-pity.

I glance back at him as he drones on about his latest grievance with his coworkers. He’s not entirely bad-looking. Blond hair frames sharp blue eyes, and his suit—tailored, expensive—hints at someone who should have charm to spare. But his handsome features are wasted on his hollow personality. He has that dead-inside look, a man going through the motions of life without ever really living.

I brush invisible dust off my belted black jumpsuit, which I’d paired with gold accessories and heels. It compliments my tanned skin and curly hickory-colored hair, which I had taken far too much time styling for this mediocre evening. As he continues to ramble, I suppress a yawn, picking at the remains of my filet mignon and sipping my wine.

At some point, I excuse myself, claiming I need to use the ladies’ room. Not that he hears me. He’s too absorbed in his own narrative. My heels click against the polished floor as I walk away, and for the first time tonight, I feel a semblance of relief.

I turn the corner and nearly crash into something—or rather, someone. I stumble back, my balance faltering, but before I can hit the ground, a hand shoots out and wraps around my waist, steadying me.

My heart does a little tumble as my green eyes widen, meeting the gaze of the man who caught me.

Oh. My. God.

Standing before me is, without a doubt, the most striking man I’ve ever seen. He towers over me, easily over six feet tall, with slightly curled jet-black hair and piercing obsidian eyes. His chiseled features are so perfect they seem almost unreal—like they were carved by the hands of a master sculptor. He looks down at me with an amused expression, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest.

“Careful now, darling,” he says, his voice smooth as velvet. “A beauty like you should never be on the ground.”

I nod dumbly, unable to form coherent words. My brain struggles to process both his presence and the fact that he’s still holding me.

He releases me gently, stepping back as a faint smile plays on his lips. “Enjoy your evening,” he says, inclining his head before walking past me.

I watch him go, still rooted to the spot, my mind racing. Who was that?

I shake myself out of my daze and head to the restroom, splashing cold water on my face in an attempt to calm my nerves. By the time I return to my table, I’ve convinced myself it was just a random encounter—nothing more.

But when I glance toward the far end of the dining room, I see him again. He’s seated a few tables away, looking completely at ease as he sips his drink.

My date quirks a brow as I sit down. “Where did you go? You ought to know it’s rather rude to leave in the middle of a conversation, dear.”

“Apologies,” I say, forcing a polite smile. “I just needed a moment.”

“Never mind that,” he says with an exaggerated sigh, his eyes scanning the room. They settle on a young woman leaving the restaurant, and a strange expression flickers across his face—something between boredom and disdain.

“And sadly,” he continues, “I’ve grown bored of you as well. There really isn’t anything special about you, aside from your money.”

I nearly choke on my wine, my mouth dropping open as he rises from his seat. He grabs his coat, giving me one last condescending look. “I’ll be on my way. I’m sure you can handle the bill.”

And with that, he walks out, leaving me stunned and furious.

I take a deep breath, downing the rest of my wine in one gulp as I try to regain my composure. But before I can fully process what just happened, a commotion breaks out a few tables away.

I glance over to see a woman in a garish bubblegum-pink dress standing and yelling at her date, a bottle of sparkling water clutched in her hand. Before anyone can stop her, she dumps the entire bottle over his head, her laughter echoing through the room.

The man slowly rises, water dripping from his hair and suit, and I freeze. It’s him—the stranger who saved me earlier.

He doesn’t look angry, though. If anything, he looks mildly amused as he grabs a napkin and begins drying himself off. “Well,” he says, his tone calm but cutting, “It seems things won’t work out after all, Iliana.”

He tosses the napkin onto the table, pulls out his wallet, and leaves cash for the servers before whispering something to the woman. Whatever he says makes her go pale, and she stares after him as he strides out of the restaurant.

I don’t know what compels me to follow, but before I realize it, I’m on my feet, grabbing my bag and heading for the door.

The cool night air greets me once again as I step outside, scanning the sidewalk for any sign of him. I spot him a few paces away, his tall figure impossible to miss as he walks with purpose.

“Wait!” I call out before I can stop myself.

He pauses, turning slightly to look at me. His expression softens when he sees me, and he waits as I jog to catch up.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice tinged with genuine concern.

“Yes,” I say quickly, feeling my cheeks heat. “I just… I wanted to thank you. For earlier.”

A small smile curves his lips. “No need to thank me. It was my pleasure.”

I hesitate, unsure of what to say next. He watches me patiently, as though he has all the time in the world.

“I never got your name,” I say finally.

“Adrian,” he replies, his dark eyes gleaming under the streetlights. “And yours?”

“Kiara.”

“Kiara,” he repeats, the name rolling off his tongue like a secret.

We stand there for a moment, the noise of the city fading into the background. There’s something about him that draws me in, something I can’t quite put into words.

“Would you like to take a walk?” he asks, his voice breaking the silence.

I nod before I can overthink it.

As we stroll through the city, the conversation flows effortlessly. He’s charming but not overbearing, and there’s an intensity to him that’s both intriguing and intimidating.

By the time we part ways, the night feels like a blur—a surreal dream I’m not entirely sure I want to wake from.

As I watch him disappear into the shadows, I can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t the last time I’ll see Adrian. Something tells me our paths are destined to cross again.

For better or worse.

“Maybe I should have Ria erase our memories of this.”

Bell throws her head back and laughs at Cross’ attempt at a joke. Putting a hand to his chest, he feigns a hurt expression.

“It wasn’t that bad,” she says, trying to sugarcoat the experience they both just had.

“Don’t downplay it. My reservation skills are at an all time low,” he sulks.

Their steps, in line with one another, echo in the empty street, a slight breeze chilling them. It is relatively peaceful. Just the glow from the overhead street lights to guide them.

“Well you did make one. Just for a different day,” she points out, unsure if that helps his self esteem or worsens it.

Getting to the small Italian restaurant, Cross so proudly stated his name and the time he set the reservation. It all came crashing down when the hostess couldn’t find his name. Then for the reveal that he selected the wrong day.

Bell didn’t care, but she knew he did.

“Then my car broke down and we both had to push it to the side of the road,” he continues.

That wasn’t the greatest time, she will admit. It makes her internally wince just thinking about the physical effort that took. And for having to leave his car on the side of the road.

While they live in a safe area, one never knows. It made both of them uncomfortable leaving it there, but they had to abandon the vehicle to get back.

“That’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known. And your telekinesis isn’t strong enough to push the car.”

“With no car and no phone chargers, our phones died. So now we have to walk two miles back home,” he finishes the story, walking backwards, throwing his arms up.

Bell will admit when he puts it like that, it doesn’t sound too good.

“Yeah, not the best time, but it’s a fun story,” she tries again. She’s not used to seeing Cross so upset about something. Normally, he is a laidback guy. The only times she has seen him fired up was when she told him about her mom swiping their memories of being soulmates and when the school implemented the dampening cuffs.

And that last one didn’t really affect them. Sometimes Bell forgets she even has these new powers. But it really messed with their friends, particularly Lou.

“You’re just trying to be nice,” he grumbles, though with a hint of acceptance of what she said. So progress.

Grabbing his hand, she swings their joined hands in between them. “If everything went well, where’s the adventure in that?”

He looks up at the dark sky thoughtfully. It’s a cloudy night. The moon shines through the thin veil but not the stars.

“True,” he agrees.

“You know this date can still end well,” she proposes slyly, staring straight ahead, trying to act nonchalant.

A grin grows on his face, his grip on her hand tightening. “Oh? How so?”

“Well…” she draws out, teasingly, “I always wanted a cinematic rain scene.”

As she suggests that, the clouds darken slightly to her will. Particularly above them.

“Like when the couple kiss in the rain?” He teases, using her hand to twirl her around to face him.

His arms wrap around her waist, hers on his chest. She’s never felt as safe as she does with him. She never thought having a soulmate was in the cards for her. But she never doubted he would be in her life. Now she has both. Cross as her soulmate.

Her response doesn’t come verbally. Tilting her head up, a light sprinkle of raindrops twinkle in the moonlight.

They almost looks like tiny stars, falling around them.

Feeling his hair get matted down but not soaked, he laughs, a full body laugh.

He picks her up, spinning Bell around. Her hands clutch his shoulders as she squeals at his movement. Water whipped from her hair as he spun her.

The raindrops streaked down their faces, but it didn’t dampen their spirits.

When he sets her down, they have matching smiles.

Bell gets her rain kiss.

In her opinion, it was the best date ever.

—— (What’s your favorite rain kiss from a TV show or movie? When I wrote this one, I was thinking of the one in High School Musical: The Musical: The Series with Gina and Ricky.

Next one in this series will be about Lou! It will take a bit because I’m still writing it.)

Rayburn sat down at the Burtrom family table trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

It was dark in the room, the only thing brightening up the setting was the flickering fire of a candle (which was enclosed inside of a glass case, no doubt for Rayburn’s sake) even though Rayburn knew that the Burtroms had well enough power flowing in from the nearest city to have working lights.

What was even stranger though was the decorations hanging everywhere in the dining room. They were flowery—was it someone’s birthday today; that couldn’t be right—and a handsome, dark shade of wine. Someone coughed and Rayburn turned to the source to see Oswald sitting across from him at the small table. Oswald was wearing a crisp, black two piece and seemed at be looking at Rayburn very intently.

Rayburn squinted. Had he missed something?

He himself was dressed in a button up shirt and some loose trousers, both, even though being fitted and sized for all his clothes, were rather too big for his boney frame.

“Glad you could make it, Ray,” Oswald said appreciatively against the quiet of the room. He met Rayburn’s gaze for a quick few before his light brown face turned ruddy and bashful.

Bashful? Was this really Oswald before him? Rayburn felt angry at that moment. He really didn’t know what was going on, and not knowing things in situations really tore a hole in his pride. Oswald, knowing him for ten years, knew this the of course, so was this a sick joke? What was he missing?

“Well,” muttered Rayburn as he frowned at his recent thoughts, “I had no choice but to because Penelope and Charles seemed quite intent for dragging me here if I didn’t come myself. So what’s this about anyway?”

Oswald blinked slowly. “Wait, you don’t know what’s going on?”

What kind of—

“Well f course I don’t know what’s going on!” Rayburn huffed and pushed back against his chair. “Would you care to tell me, Oswald?”

Oswald smiled at that, then, after a moment, laughed full heartedly, wheezing when all his breath left him. Rayburn stood watching this, still confused as ever.

“Oh, Ray! I love you so much, you know that, but you really are slow.”

“Am I?” Rayburn frowned, but his anger left him as Oswald came over to gather him in his arms.

Oswald rubbed Rayburn’s back. “Yes, yes you are,” he pulled away and asked, “You want to know what this is—or what it was supposed to be?”

Rayburn nodded, peering at the decorations around them again. He saw Penelope and Charles come out from the kitchen, dressed up as much as Oswald but looking like waiters.

“THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A DATE, YOU IDIOT!” Penelope stomped off upstairs. “I wore this stupid dress for NOTHING!”

Charles giggled at the sight but shut up as Penelope threw a nasty glare at him.

Rayburn felt utterly dumb at that moment. “Ah,” was all he could get out.

Oswald, who was in much better condition then his siblings, grinned. “We can try again later, maybe no surprises, yes?”

Penelope huffed. “Or maybe Rayburn can stop being so stupid all the time.”

(Yay! More LIAST stuff. These make me feel better about life. Ahahaha….we’re still on the road.

Thanks for reading and have a great day!)

He slides up to me at the bar, all bold confidence and charmingly lopsided grin.

My heart stops somewhere on the way up my throat. I swallow it back down, willing my stomach to stop competing for gold in gymnastics.

“Would it be too cheesy to ask what a pretty girl like you is doing all alone at a bar?”

I square my shoulders, put on Confident Abby, and smile back at him. Confident Abby never shies away from a conversation with a stranger. Confident Abby is sexy and mysterious and her stomach is definitely not doing summersaults right now.

“Can’t a girl go to a cowboy themed bar in Glasgow on her own?”

He grins, settling into the seat beside me.

“And are you enjoying the view?” He gestures vaguely to the array of cowboy garments and poor line dancing.

“You gotta give them credits for committing to the bit,” Confident Abby replies. “I could also ask what a guy who looks like he came straight out of outlander is doing in a cowboy themed bar. But I trust you have your reasons.”

“Outlander eh?” That has him smiling even more. “You’re not from here are you?”

I shake my head. “Nope. Guess.”

“American?”

I roll my eyes.

“Ah, Canadian. Sorry.”

“Make it up to me by buying me a drink?” I don’t know why I’m going along with this. He has no idea who I am. But Confident Abby is on a mission and wants to see how far she can take this.

“I was gonnae ask if you’d come dance with me? Give you a chance to prove your skills before getting a drink or two in ye.”

“Did your accent just get stronger?”

He smiles bashfully, the first hint of humility painting his handsome features.

“Usually works on foreign girls.”

“And how many foreign girls have you been with?”

He takes my hand and guides me to the open dance floor. “How about we get to know each others names first before taking about body counts?”

“That is a very smooth way of evading the question.” I’m not ready for him to ask my name. I’m not ready for the reaction I know will come.

“Seeing as you’re intent on this sexy bit mysterious bit, I’ll go first. I’m Jack.”

Tim McGraw starts playing over the speakers. The dance floor is immediately swarmed. Jack spins me into his chest, keeping me close from the crowd.

He’s got the kind of natural dance skills that come from knowing you’re attractive. At well over 6 foot, he’s already the centre of everyone’s attention, and his curling ginger hair, stormy blue eyes, and wicked grin come together to make him irresistibly magnetic.

Confident Abby flickers as I move with him, our bodies flush as the music picks up.

“I’m Abby,” I saw over the noise.

“Abby,” he says back, feeling the way the word sounds in his mouth.

Suddenly he stops dancing, looks down at me.

“Wait…”

Here it comes. I beat him to it as Confident Abby evaporates.

“Yeah. We’ve done this before.”

The music stops.

“Shit.”

Are you really going to say that again?

What? You thought it was funny last time.

Yeah, but you’re corny now. Get some new material.

Did I offend you? I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.

Here you go again.

Jesus.

Don’t you say it.

You sound just like …

Don’t say it!

My ex wife!

I’m leaving!

Fine! Get the fuck out of here, I don’t care! You’re picking a fight out of nowhere for nothing, and it tells me a lot about your character.

Oh right, right, because I’m the asshole here, right? You’re just the innocent victim again, like you never did anything or said anything.

What did I do? What did I say? You have to tell me, I can’t read your mind.

But you can take a hint, can’t you? Last time you said it, I chuckled and rolled my eyes. That’s not encouragement.

Ok, God, I’ll never say it again, I promise.

You don’t get me, and that’s what’s the problem with you. You’re so nice and polite and funny, I don’t even know where I stand with you. Do you even like me or do you just not want to hurt my feelings?

I like you, I like you! What’s the problem, so I made a bad joke. You’re so insecure you take everything so personally.

I don’t! I have a great sense of humor and I can laugh at myself. You’re the one who gets all offended and distant whenever I bring up something you don’t like.

You’re making stuff up, I’ve never done that.

Oh yeah? Yesterday, I asked you not to leave your toothbrush on my sink and you didn’t talk to me for hours.

I was busy at work! I barely noticed when you told me that.

You’re so sloppy, you leave your stuff all over the place.

Ok, can you just tell me this stuff when you notice it? I can be better.

You don’t get it. I don’t want you. You’re a sloppy little boy and I deserve so much more than everything you could ever offer.

Is that what your mother said?

Are you reading my texts?

Answer the question.

I can’t believe this, you little rat. I’m never leaving my phone unlocked again. My conversations with my family are my business, not yours.

She’s ruining another relationship for you.

I want you to come to my apartment and get all your shit and then I want you to never talk to me ever again. I mean it, ever, I’m done with you.

You don’t mean that.

I do, I’ve had enough. I’m not getting any younger and you’re just playing games with me. I need more than this.

Marry me.

Below is a record of day 78 of filming a Foyerblot production:

JEXOB: Mind if I sit here, babe?

MEL: Hey, Jexob, right?

JEXOB: Righty-roo, boo.

DIRECTOR: CUT! What the heck was that? Take two. Action.

ASSISTANT DIRECTOR: Rolling.

JEXOB: Mind if I sit here, babe?

MEL: Hey, Jexob, right?

JEXOB: Yup, that’s me! You’re Mel the Majestic, right?

MEL: Ha, I guess you could say so.

JEXOB: So how should we split the bill… I’ll pay for drinks you pay for food?

DIRECTOR: CUT! Have you ever been on a date? This isn’t a business deal. Take three. Action.

ASSISTANT DIRECTOR: Rolling.

JEXOB: Mind if I sit here, babe?

MEL: Hey, Jexob, right?

JEXOB: Yup, that’s me! You’re Mel the Majestic, right?

MEL: Ha, I guess you could say so.

JEXOB: So what is your drink of choice?

MEL: Oh, I don’t drink.

JEXOB: Oh.

WAITER: What can I get you to start out with? Drinks?

JEXOB: The lady and I will have Champagne.

DIRECTOR: CUT! She doesn’t drink… don’t order for her. Take four. Action.

ASSISTANT DIRECTOR: Rolling.

JEXOB: Mind if I sit here, babe?

MEL: Hey, Jexob, right?

JEXOB: Yup, that’s me! You’re Mel the Majestic, right?

MEL: Ha, I guess you could say so.

JEXOB: So what is your drink of choice?

MEL: Oh, I don’t drink.

JEXOB: Oh.

WAITER: What can I get you to start out with. Drinks?

MEL: I’d love some tap water; lemon wedges if you have them.

JEXOB: That’s it? Well in that case I’ll have a Bloody Mary.

WAITER: Very good, sir.

MEL: Your drink of choice is tomato juice with a celery stick? Ew.

DIRECTOR: CUT! We’ll come back to this tomorrow. It is uneccesary to have them improv the scene if we pay people for exactly this. I want new writers like YESTERDAY! And come to think of it, new actors! You all are fired! This is supposed to be a romantic candlelit date not a “try not to cringe” challenge.

jb: baby baby baby oh person: no

Julie I hate him. Look at his terriable oz accent with that playboy shirt, I can’t believe Lola fucking made me to come to this blind date like does she even have any idea of type?!. The French boy…dude.

John I hate her. Her clam and innocent face makes me guilty.