I immediately forwarded it to Melissa.
She called within seconds.
“HE ADDED A LATE FEE?”
“Apparently.”
“Rebecca, this man is treating your first date like an overdue utility bill!”
I laughed so hard that tears ran down my cheeks.
Then Melissa told me something unexpected.
“I need to confess something.”
My laughter stopped.
“What?”
“I told my coworker about this. She knows Daniel.”
I sat up.
“And?”
“Apparently he did something similar to another woman last year.”
I felt my stomach sink.
“What happened?”
“He invited her to a concert. Told her the tickets were his treat. Then afterward, he asked her to reimburse him because she didn’t want to go on another date.”
I stared at the wall.
“So this isn’t even new?”
“Apparently not.”
For a moment, I felt embarrassed.
Not because I had done anything wrong, but because I had been so excited about him.
I had told my friends.
I had imagined a second date.
I had placed those roses in my favorite vase.
And all along, he had apparently been keeping receipts.
The Reply I Finally Sent
That evening, I decided to answer him one last time.
I didn’t insult him.
I didn’t threaten him.
I simply wrote:
“Daniel, I won’t be paying your invoice. You explicitly declined my offer to split the restaurant bill and never told me that the flowers, parking, or planning were expenses you expected me to reimburse. I did not agree to those charges. Please don’t contact me again about payment or a future date.”
Then I blocked his number.
I kept copies of the messages, just in case he continued contacting me through other channels.
And that was that.
Or so I thought.
Two weeks later, Melissa invited me to a small dinner party.
When I arrived, she pulled me aside.
“Please don’t be mad.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing terrible.”
“Melissa.”
She smiled nervously.
“I invited my cousin, Andrew.”
I groaned.
“No.”
“Just hear me out.”
“Absolutely not. I’m retiring from dating.”
“He’s not a setup. He’s just coming to dinner.”
I gave her a suspicious look.
“Does he charge a reservation fee?”
She laughed.
“No.”
“Does he accept payment plans?”
“Rebecca!”
“Does he send monthly statements?”
By then, we were both laughing.
I agreed to stay.
And that evening, I met Andrew.
He wasn’t carrying roses.
He didn’t make dramatic declarations about being a gentleman.
He didn’t insist on opening every door.
He was simply kind.
He helped Melissa clear the table.
