# Chapter 3: The Perfect Date
Emma had changed three times before settling on dark jeans and a cream-colored sweater—casual but not sloppy, attractive but not desperate. She arrived at Bear Creek Café twenty minutes ahead of time and parked across the street, gazing out her windshield like a stalker.
This is ridiculous, she told herself. It's just coffee.
At 1:58 PM, she was five seconds from turning the ignition key when Adrian appeared, approaching the café with purposeful strides. Right on time. Emma breathed and walked across the street.
The café was perfect—a brick exposed wall, local artworks, the inviting aroma of just-baked goods. Adrian had reserved a corner table by the window and stood up at once when he saw her approaching him.
"I didn't think you'd show up," he admitted, and a softness in his eyes made her chest tighten.
"I was going to miss it," Emma confessed.
"I'm glad you didn't." His grin was authentic, relieved. "I went and ordered your drink—I hope you don't mind. Lavender latte, is that correct? The barista said they made it their specialty."
Emma looked at the perfect foam design atop her drink. "You remembered."
"Hard to forget someone's favorite coffee." Adrian pointed to the chair across from him. "Please, sit. How are you recovering after yesterday's adventure?"
"Less lost, thanks to you." Emma settled into her chair, inhaling the soothing lavender scent. "This smells incredible."
"Try it."
The first sip was pure heaven—just right, not too sweet, and infused with real lavender instead of chemicals. "Oh my God. This is the best lavender latte I've ever had."
"I said so." Adrian's eyes crinkled with pleasure. "Architect, then. Tell me about your work. Why did you decide to be an architect?"
Emma found herself sharing things with him she hadn't shared with anyone for months. Adrian was the perfect listener—asking good questions, making supportive sounds, never interrupting.
"I specialized in healing environments," she told him. "Hospitals, rehab centers, where people go when they're at their most fragile. I always believed that surroundings could help with healing, you know? That light and circulation and materials could make a person feel secure."
"That's lovely," Adrian said softly. "Where did that come from?"
Emma hesitated, then was sharing something she told only a handful of others. "I grew up in foster care. I moved around constantly. Some places were safe, others." She shrugged. "I learned to notice rooms. How they make you feel."
Adrian's expression relaxed. "I know that more than you can possibly know. Lost memories lose parents at twelve. Left to relatives who weren't exactly cuddly. There's something about having your safety stripped away that young—that it changes you to see the world differently."
"I'm sorry," Emma whispered.
"It affected me, though. Made me want to help restore what was lost. That's what I really do these days—tech advising to small companies after disasters, system failures, hostile takeover threats. I help rebuild from scratch."
"That must be rewarding."
"It is. Although lately I've been wondering if I'm just fleeing from myself by fixing everyone else." Adrian paused, studying her face. "What about you? Are you healing in time, or fleeing too?"
Emma's throat closed up. "Both, maybe. I lost my law firm recently. And my marriage. Everything I'd worked for in fifteen years, just. gone."
"I'm sorry. That sounds terrible."
"The worst is not knowing how it all fell apart so quickly. Like someone pulled a thread and it all unraveled." Emma shook her head. "Hearing me, dumping my problems on you. Not very good first-date conversation."
"Is this a first date?" Adrian asked with a small grin.
Emma's cheeks grew red. "I don't know. Is it?"
"I'd like it to be."
The way he looked at her did things to Emma's heart. When had anyone ever looked at her like she was desirable, not broken?
"You know what?"
Adrian stood up rather hastily. "It's nice out. Want to take a walk? I can show you some interesting buildings downtown."
They left the café and strolled down Pine Ridge's arts district. Adrian pointed out architectural details she might see, asked for her reaction to building types. He was clearly intelligent, globetrotting, but not arrogant about it.
"That building reminds me of something I saw in the Minneapolis area," he stated factually while strolling by a repurposed warehouse. "Very similar application of industrial materials to residential conversion."
Emma nodded, though something bothered her. She'd lived in Minneapolis during graduate school but hadn't spoken of it.
They stopped in front of a bookstore where jazz floated from the speakers. "I love this type of music," Adrian said. "So much more refined than what most people listen to."
Emma's step hesitated a little. She'd played jazz around the clock in her home office—said it helped her think. But she certainly hadn't said that.
"You okay?" Adrian asked, seeing her hesitate.
"Fine. Just. this town is charming."
"It is. I'm so glad I found it."
They both ended up at a spot where you could see the town, and the conversation became personal—things they'd lost hope for, things they carried around fear of losing, why they were both trying to run.
"I don't usually get along with folks like this," Adrian said, shuffling in on the bench.
"Me neither," Emma panted.
He reached up to cup her face gently. "I don't want to rush things. You've had enough."
Emma recognized she required this. For the first time in months, she felt wanted, valued, seen. Adrian leaned in—
"DADDY, LOOK AT THE VIEW!" A three-kid family flooded onto the overlook, shattering the moment.
Adrian and Emma laughed, tension defusing but shattered.
"Dinner?" Adrian suggested. "I know a spot."
At the restaurant, Emma began to catch on to small things that didn't add up. Adrian's phone rang constantly, but he never glanced at it when they were conversing. When she had mentioned a restaurant in her hometown, he nodded, accepting.
"Oh yeah, that place on Fifth Street?" he said. "Good vibe."
Emma froze. "I did not mention the street."
Adrian's expression didn't change. "Good guess. Most of the nice restaurants in small towns are on Main, aren't they?"
It sounded plausible, but something wasn't adding up. And when he was pulling out his credit card to pay the bill, she heard the name on it: "A. Mitchell." Not Adrian Mitchell—just "A."
Outside the restaurant, Adrian walked her to her car. The would-be-kiss tension was still there, but Emma felt a little unbalanced.
"I had a wonderful time," Adrian stated. "Would you want to do this again? Perhaps I could invite you over for a meal? I have a house not far from your cabin."
Emma acquiesced but unease tingled along her spine. "How did you know where my cabin is?"
Adrian's grin faltered not at all. "You said yesterday you were camping near the Whispering Pines trailhead. There are only a handful of rental cabins up there. Lucky guess?"
The reason had made sense, but something about his attitude felt rehearsed.
That evening, at the cabin, Emma replayed the evening. Ninety percent of it had been sheer enchantment—Adrian's thoughtfulness, the repartee, the way he'd made her feel lovely and intriguing again. But those little things stuck.
You're paranoid, she warned. Trauma makes you suspect good things.
But just as she was brushing her teeth, something made her hesitate. There was a coffee cup in the sink—spotless, as though someone had washed it and put it back. It hadn't been there when she'd left.
Emma double-checked the cabin properly. Nothing else seemed to have been touched. All the doors and windows were locked. She must be losing her mind.
As she finally climbed into bed, her phone buzzed with a text from Adrian: "Thanks for a perfect day. Sweet dreams, Emma. ????"
Emma's eyes widened as she stared at the screen, her blood running cold. The sleeping emoji. She'd sent that same very emoji every night when Marcus worked away—a little personal habit she'd never revealed to anyone else.
How did Adrian know that?