Asher POV
Asher had been staring at the same line of code for seven minutes.
Seven full minutes.
A personal record for how long a completely functional adult man could pretend to work while his mind was very obviously somewhere else.
He leaned back in his chair, pinched the bridge of his nose, and exhaled softly.
He was thinking about her again.
Lila.
Her laugh.
Her dry wit.
The way she spoke with her hands, expressive without trying.
The way she listened, attentive, like every word mattered.
He'd known her for… what, four days in total? One unexpected morning and one unplanned meeting that still played in his mind like a film on loop. Yet something about her had carved out a space in him so quickly it almost didn't feel fair.
It had been a long while since someone made him feel this alive. Curious.
Hopeful.
And now, he had a date to plan.
A proper date.
He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck.
"What am I supposed to do with that?" he muttered to himself.
He wanted the day to be perfect—not extravagant, not forced—just meaningful. Something gentle. Something that felt like her.
But everything he came up with felt… wrong.
Too noisy.
Too formal.
Too much.
Asher groaned quietly, turning his chair toward the large windows of his office. Florence stretched below—golden rooftops, winding streets, life moving with ease. The city felt like the right backdrop for something new. Something hopeful.
Something like her.
His mind drifted again, uninvited but welcomed.
He thought of how her eyes had widened when he walked into the café. How she'd tried to hide the delighted tilt of her lips. How she'd leaned forward whenever he spoke, engaged, present.
How she'd said yes to a date with the kind of smile that could undo a man's careful self-control.
Beautiful.
Interesting.
Funny.
Far more perceptive than she let on.
There was a gentleness to her that pulled him in, a softness paired with this underlying strength that hinted at stories she hadn't shared yet. He didn't need the details. He sensed the depth.
And that depth fascinated him.
He realized then, with startling clarity, that he genuinely liked her.
More than he expected.
More than made sense.
He wasn't the type to rush.
But something about Lila felt easy. Natural. Right.
Asher blinked, snapping himself back to the present. He had work to finish, deadlines to approve, a team waiting on updates. And instead, he was fully immersed in date logistics like a teenager planning his first outing.
He rubbed his palms against his desk.
"Okay," he sighed. "Time to be a functioning adult."
He grabbed his phone and buzzed his assistant.
"Racheal, can you step in for a moment?"
"On my way," her voice chimed through the speaker.
He straightened in his chair, suddenly doubting the wisdom of involving her. Racheal knew him too well. And she lacked the ability to not tease him about anything mildly human.
The door creaked open.
Racheal stepped in, efficient as always, her tablet in hand, her expression already suspicious.
"You sounded weird on the phone," she said. "Are we about to have another crisis? Because I'm not emotionally prepared for—"
"It's not a work crisis."
She raised a brow. "Oh? Then what kind of crisis?"
He hesitated.
She smirked.
"Asher."
Her tone sharpened with amused anticipation.
"What did you do?"
He sighed heavily. "I… need help planning a date."
Racheal blinked.
Twice.
Then she stared at him like he had just announced he was resigning to start a bakery.
"A date?" she repeated slowly.
"Yes."
"With… a human woman?"
He closed his eyes. "Racheal."
She burst into laughter.
"Oh this is good. This is fantastic. Give me a moment—she sits down—this is better than my morning espresso."
He waited, head tilted back in resignation.
Once she finished laughing and wiped away a tear, she placed her tablet down and leaned forward eagerly.
"Alright," she said. "Tell me everything. Who is she? How did you meet?
He should've known she'd latch onto this like a cat with a toy.
"We met by accident," he said plainly. "Then we ran into each other again, and we've been talking. She's… interesting. Smart. And she doesn't pretend to be someone she isn't. I like that."
Racheal gasped softly. "Oh God. You like her."
"Yes," he admitted, annoyed at how easily the truth slipped out. "I do."
She beamed like she'd just won a prize. "Well, now I have to help. Sit tight, boss. Your date planner has entered the chat."
He pinched the bridge of his nose again. "Please be serious."
"I'm extremely serious," she said, already typing. "Okay, so what do you have so far?"
"I want the date to be sweet, romantic, but not overwhelming. Nothing loud, nothing with crowds, nothing too flashy. She likes art," he said.
"Perfect. Museum first then," Racheal said, tapping rapidly. "Something quiet, beautiful, where conversation flows naturally. That'll calm your nerves and impress her without trying too hard."
"I'm not nervous," he muttered.
"You absolutely are," she replied. "Next—ice cream. Something small and cute. Gives you time to talk, walk, be normal."
Asher nodded slowly. "That's… actually good."
"Of course it is. I'm excellent," she said smugly. "And while you're walking, you'll take the route on that open-air art fair happening near Via delle Belle Arti. Weather's good all week. It'll feel spontaneous even though it's very much planned. Romantic, relaxed, perfect ending point."
He blinked.
That really was… perfect.
"Racheal," he said softly, surprised. "That's exactly the kind of thing she'd enjoy."
"Obviously. I'm a genius," she said, flipping her hair. "And you, my emotionally constipated boss, are going to pull this off."
He felt warmth spread across his chest—anticipation more than nerves now.
"When should I schedule it?" he asked.
"That depends," she said, narrowing her eyes. "Did you already ask her out?"
"Yes."
"And she said yes?"
He shot her a look.
She clapped her hands.
"Then tomorrow," she said decisively. "You're too excited to wait any longer. And frankly, watching you attempt to function like this for days would be a danger to company productivity."
He almost laughed.
She had a point.
"Tomorrow," he agreed.
She stood, gathering her things. "I'll send you the final plan, times, and recommended places. All you have to do is show up, smile, and not overthink it."
"I don't overthink," he said.
"You've been staring at a blank screen for ten minutes."
He opened his mouth, closed it, conceded.
"Fine," he muttered. "Maybe a little."
She beamed, heading toward the door.
"Good luck, Asher. And… I'm happy for you. Really."
A genuine smile tugged at his lips. "Thanks, Racheal."
When she left, he leaned back in his chair again, but this time the world felt lighter.
His chest felt warmer.
His thoughts clearer.
A museum.
Ice cream.
An art fair.
A quiet walk through Florence.
With her.
Tomorrow suddenly felt impossibly far away.
But for the first time in a long, long time, he looked forward to something that wasn't work. Something that made his pulse quicken and his heart move in ways he wasn't used to.
He shut down his computer, grabbed his coat, and headed toward the elevator.
Work could wait.
Tonight he would go home, shower, eat something, and attempt to calm the unusual but unmistakable excitement building inside him.
Because tomorrow…
tomorrow he would see her again.
And he couldn't remember the last time a single thought made him this happy.