Sandro, Like Devin, Was Fulfilling A Repetitive Request From His Own Mother. Her Constant Refrain Of

Sandro, like Devin, was fulfilling a repetitive request from his own mother. Her constant refrain of telling him that it doesn't matter if he had all the career success in the world if he didn't have someone to share the spoils of his success with was echoing through his head as he approached the restaurant for his blind date. Making partner at his firm hadn't been enough, apparently he needed a wife too before his parents could be really and truly proud. He wasn't sure what exactly was in store after his mother and Devin's set up this promised one-time thing, but he wasn't exactly enthusiastic.

He approached the table he'd been directed to, pasting a small smile on his face as he walked up to her, "Are you Devin?" He asked, hand coming to rest on the back of the empty chair across from her, "I'm Sandro, uh, the blind date." He could practically hear his mother's voice telling him to stand up straight, so he straightened his spine and held out his hand to shake hers, "Nice to meet you."

He didn't have time to overthink his decision to go for a handshake, which could have been perceived as a very non-date gesture. But when in doubt, his business sensibilities won out. Sandro, ever the workaholic, needed a reminder that he wasn't Sandro Cruz, attorney at law, for the next few hours.

muse: devin bahar ( main verse; famous ). late 20s. fashion designer, model and philanthropist. open to: males / 30+. plot: devin’s mother has insisted on setting her up with an eligible bachelor (up to her mother's standards), and after months of evasion, devin finally agreed to one blind date to appease her. now, she’s sitting at the restaurant, waiting for her date to arrive. her date? could have agreed due to pressure on his end, could actually be interested, etc. starter tag: @indiestarter notes: replies will be posted as new threads for tracking purposes. matching length is not required - I ramble.

Devin sat at the small, candlelit table near the restaurant’s window, her perfectly manicured fingers idly tracing the rim of her wine glass. The hum of soft conversation and clinking silverware filled the air, blending with the faint aroma of fresh basil and roasted garlic that wafted from the open kitchen.

She adjusted the strap of her sleek black dress, shifting in her chair as her eyes flicked to the door for what felt like the hundredth time. It wasn’t nerves—she didn’t get nervous for dates, least of all ones she’d been forced into. It was more the dull frustration simmering beneath her calm exterior.

Her mother’s voice still rang in her ears: “Darling, he’s exactly the kind of man you need—charming, successful, rich, from a good family. Just one dinner, Devin. You can do that much for me, can’t you?”

Devin sighed softly, lifting her glass to take a measured sip of wine. She’d agreed, if only to quiet the endless string of “helpful suggestions” her mother had been pushing for months. One date, and she could get on with her life. At least, that’s what she told herself.

Her gaze shifted back to the menu in front of her, her hazel-green eyes scanning the options she’d already memorized in her effort to look preoccupied. The truth was, her patience was wearing thin, and she wasn’t sure if she’d even recognize this man when—or if—he arrived.

Devin leaned back in her chair, letting out a soft breath as she crossed one leg over the other. Maybe this would be the kind of story she could laugh about later—or maybe, it would be a night she’d prefer to forget. Only time, and whoever walked through that door next, would tell.