I remember the exact moment I matched with Aaron—his face popped up with that “It’s a Match!” banner, and I was hooked. He was stunning—broad shoulders, clean-cut beard, eyes like warm honey. His bio? “Looking for something real. Lover of books, coffee, and bad puns.” Bonus points for the puns.

His messages were the real hook—thoughtful, engaging, and not the typical fluff. He remembered things, asked about my books, and even made mundane topics interesting. When I mentioned my favorite childhood story was Beauty and the Beast, he lit up.

“No way, that was my favorite too! Though I’ve only seen the Disney version,” he admitted.
“That counts,” I replied.
“Exactly. Misunderstood guy, girl sees the good in him—they fall in love. Classic.”

That was the moment I felt it—the click.

A week of texting later, Aaron invited me to a fancy Italian place. “Should I bring a ball gown?” I joked.
“Only if you plan on dancing with a beast,” he replied.

When I arrived, Aaron looked even better in person—sharp suit, perfect hair, intoxicating cologne. “You look incredible,” he said, pulling out my chair.

Dinner was perfect—no awkward pauses or ex talk. Midway through, he leaned in, “What’s something you’ve never told anyone?”
Caught off guard, I confessed, “I used to cheat at board games with my little brother.”
“Remind me never to play cards with you,” he laughed.

It felt good. It felt right. Until dessert.

Aaron pulled out a single red rose. My heart skipped. He remembered Beauty and the Beast!

But then he smirked. “It’s not that,” he said. “It’s like The Bachelor. I give roses to women I think are good enough to move to the next round.”

I waited for him to say he was joking. He wasn’t.

“So, if things go well, you’ll keep getting roses. When it’s down to two women, I’ll decide who I want to be with.”

I nearly choked on my tiramisu.

When he went to the restroom, I made a decision. I paid the bill—yes, for both of us—and walked out with the rose.

By the time I got to my car, my phone buzzed. Aaron.
“Wow, love a woman who takes initiative. You’ve definitely earned the next rose.”

I laughed, blocked his number, and drove off.

Sometimes, the win isn’t finding the right person—it’s walking away from the wrong one.