➜ Sandro Threads - Blog Posts

He sat across from her, locking eyes with the woman as he settled in, humming thoughtfully, "The truth?" She seemed like someone who would prefer the truth. And he wasn't usually one to beat around the bush unless he was trying to get away with something risky at work, "My mom asked me to come. But, rest assured, I also have a healthy amount of curiosity. It's in my nature." He flashed a soft grin, returning the question, "What about you? On a quest to go on the world's best date?" His following thought was the he probably wasn't going to be the world's best date, but he kept that musing to himself. It's not that he was antisocial or rude or unattractive. Sandro just sort of found himself a bit boring. He worked and went home mostly. He didn't have many hobbies, he didn't have much of a life outside of the office. He thought it usually made very droll date conversation.

Sandro picked up the drink menu, though he kept his attention on Devin, not wanting to seem rude, remembering the manners his mom had instilled in him over and over. He was, admittedly, curious about her. He didn't think his mom had the best taste generally, but there seemed to be no issue (yet) and Devin didn't seem like a complete crazy person. Though, there was still time for such a reveal.

"What are you drinking?" Sandro asked, figuring it would probably be easier just to ask their waiter for a bottle for the table. Plus, he wasn't particularly picky when it came to wine — or food for the at matter, he was an easy date.

continued from here for tracking purposes. | @gvardrail

Her gaze lifted from the menu at the sound of his voice, hazel-green eyes settling on him with the quiet intensity of someone sizing up a mystery. So, this was Sandro. The man her mother had gone on about as though he were the solution to all of life’s problems. Devin’s lips curved, just slightly—a smile too faint to betray what she was truly thinking.

She let a beat pass, her fingers stilling on the stem of her wine glass before she reached out to take his offered hand. Her grip was firm but not overly so, the handshake coolly polite. ❝Devin,❞ she confirmed, her voice low and smooth, as if she were entirely unfazed by the circumstances. ❝Nice to meet you too, Sandro.❞

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, cataloging details with the precision of someone who had been trained to assess and analyze from a young age: the sharp cut of his jaw, the faint tension in his shoulders that betrayed the practiced ease he was trying to project. He looked like someone who lived in control—she wondered how much he hated being here, doing this.

She withdrew her hand, leaning back in her chair as she gestured to the empty seat across from her. ❝Well, you’re here. That’s more than I expected, so... points for punctuality.❞ Her words were light, tinged with dry humor, though the spark in her eyes hinted at something sharper beneath the surface.

As he settled in, Devin reached for her wine glass, taking another sip. The movement was measured, calculated even, giving her just enough time to think. ❝So, Sandro,❞ she began, setting the glass down with the softest of clinks, ❝what brings you to this thrilling adventure? Duty, curiosity, or sheer boredom?❞

Her lips quirked into a smile that was equal parts challenge and charm. Whatever this was, she had no intention of letting it fall into the predictable rhythm her mother likely envisioned. If she had to sit through this evening, she’d make it on her terms.

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.