“Your card was declined,” I said before I could stop myself.
Her face flushed crimson. “You’ll regret this!” she shrieked. “You’ve just lost a customer!”
The man who had spoken up stepped forward with a chocolate bar. “You’ve had a rough night,” he said with a kind smile. “Have something sweet — on me.”
I managed a small smile. “Thanks.”
I thought that would be the end of it. It wasn’t.
Three days later, he came through my line again — this time with just a water bottle and gum.
“Back for round two?” I teased.
He grinned. “Just supporting my favorite cashier.”
“Sure,” I said. “You came all this way for hydration and minty breath?”
He chuckled. “Maybe. Or maybe I figured this place could use some positive energy.”
That became our routine. Every few days, he’d stop by — sometimes with coffee, sometimes a single rose, sometimes just a smile. He never lingered too long, never crossed a line. My coworkers teased me, but secretly, I looked forward to it.
Two weeks later, I found an envelope by the register with my name on it. Inside was a note: You’ve had too many hard days lately. Let me take you to dinner this Friday.
It wasn’t signed, but I didn’t need it to be.
I said yes.
When Friday came, he showed up at my door in jeans and a button-down, holding wildflowers. “You didn’t have to,” I said, blushing.
“I wanted to,” he smiled. “You deserve it.”
He took me to a small Italian restaurant downtown — cozy, candlelit, smelling of garlic and comfort. We talked for hours. His name was Daniel. He was gentle, steady, and easy to laugh with. When I mentioned Tommy, he didn’t flinch or pity me. He just listened.
“He was,” I said.
“I’m glad you had that,” he said. “You deserve to feel that way again.”
That night, something opened in me I didn’t know was still there — hope.
Dinner turned into another date, then another. He met my kids months later, and they adored him. Jacob talked his ear off about soccer; Lila drew him pictures for his fridge.
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