After the waitress said, "It's nice to see you again, Peter," he began to sweat. Not a nervous chuckle or a brushed-off smile—a cold, visible sheen that spread across his brow. Something was clearly amiss.
Thando caught it instantly.
"Miss? Just a second, please," she called out, her tone composed but sharp enough to make the waitress pause mid-step.
The waitress turned back, brows raised in polite curiosity. "Hi?" she said, eyes flicking from Thando to Peter.
Thando leaned forward slightly, her voice quiet but firm. "Look, I just want to be clear with you. It's obvious that you two know each other—and Peter's reaction just confirmed it. His face went pale the moment you walked in. He looked like he'd seen a ghost."
Peter shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Thando's smile was tight but honest. "The truth is, there's nothing between us. I asked him to pretend—to help make my boyfriend jealous. He's coming here soon with his new girlfriend, and… well, I just wanted to remind him I'm still someone worth noticing. That's all."
She took a breath, watching the waitress closely. "So please… don't resent Peter. He's only here because I asked him to be."
The waitress gave a slow, knowing smile—but said nothing. With a graceful nod, she turned and walked away.
Peter blinked, speechless. What just happened? Relief fluttered in his chest, tangled with something warmer—something dangerously close to admiration.
He glanced at Thando, who sat back and sipped her drink like nothing had happened. In his mind, something shifted. The game they were playing no longer felt entirely pretend.
A few minutes later, Frank—Thando's boyfriend—burst into the restaurant, hand-in-hand with his new date. Smiling, carefree. They strolled right past Thando without noticing her, as she sat with her back to the entrance.
But as Frank took his seat, his smile wavered. He found himself staring straight at Thando.
She looked up, met his gaze with a calm smile, and turned back to Peter—laughing at something he'd said, leaning just slightly closer. Their energy was light, electric. They looked like a couple deep in conversation, unaware—or perfectly aware—of the eyes now on them.
Frank shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He crossed and uncrossed his legs, leaned forward, leaned back again. Clearly unsettled, he forced himself to chat with his date as they ordered drinks. But his laughter came half a second late. Hollow.
Thando could feel his eyes on her. She knew the dress would turn heads—and that it would turn his. She stood gracefully and excused herself to the restroom.
The moment she rose, the room subtly shifted. Heads turned. Conversations paused. Her fitted pencil dress hugged every curve, the soft gleam of the fabric catching the light. She walked with poise—but her presence struck like thunder.
A group of young men seated nearby reacted instantly. One called out, bold and smitten:
"Miss, if you weren't taken… I swear I'd make you mine. You're stunning!"
He rose to face Peter, raising his glass in admiration. "Brother, that's your date? You're blessed."
Peter smirked but said nothing.
Thando kept walking, unfazed. But as she passed Frank, he couldn't stop himself—he turned to follow her with his eyes, gaze locked on her like a secret he couldn't shake.
He forgot he wasn't alone.
His date didn't.
In a flash, she grabbed her water glass and hurled it in his face.
"Am I not enough for you?" she shouted, voice trembling. "How could you look at another woman—right in front of me?"
Tears welled as she stood, snatched her purse, and stormed out of the restaurant. The door slammed shut behind her. Silence followed. It swept through the room like a ripple. Even the clinking glasses paused.
Then Peter let out a single, uncontrollable laugh.
Frank, now drenched and humiliated, couldn't bear to sit another second. He shot up from his chair and rushed after his girlfriend, water dripping down his front like punctuation marks of shame.
Thando, still in the restroom during the scene, returned moments later to a room buzzing with laughter and whispers. Her brow furrowed as she slid back into her seat beside Peter.
"What did I miss?" she asked, glancing around.
Chris leaned in, barely able to suppress his grin, and gave her the full rundown. When Thando heard it, she burst into laughter—unapologetic, triumphant. She'd only meant to make Frank jealous. But this? This was more than she'd planned. And she couldn't help but feel a satisfied glow settle into her chest.
As the evening wore on, something else bloomed. Thando began to notice Peter's warmth—the way he listened, how gently he responded. She'd asked him to play a role. But now she found herself wondering… what if it wasn't just an act anymore?
Later, they left the restaurant and headed to the ice rink nearby. Laughter echoed as they stumbled and glided under strings of golden lights. It felt effortless.
Afterwards, Peter walked her home. And though he'd planned to say goodnight there, something in him wouldn't settle. The weight of the evening—of the moment they'd shared—pressed on his chest. He tried to call me first. No answer.
So, around 10 p.m., a knock echoed through my room. I froze. Who could be visiting this late? I walked toward the door and called out, "Who is it?"
"It's me—Peter. Open up, bro," he replied.
I swung the door open, and Peter stepped in with a grin that practically lit up the room. His energy was buzzing—shoulders loose, eyes bright. Whatever had happened, it was clearly good.
"So… tell me. How was your date tonight?" I asked, heading into the kitchen to fix us some hot drinks.
He flopped onto the couch with a sigh of contentment. "Honestly? One of the best days I've had in a while. And I don't think I'll be forgetting it anytime soon."
As I stirred our coffee, he launched into the full story—how he froze when he saw the waitress, how Thando boldly cleared the air, and finally, the chaotic scene with Frank. By the time he reached the end, we were doubled over with laughter, steam from our mugs curling into the warm air around us.
Then Peter's phone buzzed on the table. He picked it up casually—until he saw the name. His smile deepened.
"It's her," he said, voice low. "The waitress. Samantha."
He looked up, eyes wide. "She wants to meet." And then, just before I could speak—his phone buzzed again. Peter blinked. Read the screen.
"Wait… what?"