She warned him she wasn’t girlfriend material at the charity gala… But when he said “Why not?” she revealed the truth that changed everything.
The Sterling Foundation Gala was the kind of event where champagne cost more than my rent.
I didn’t belong there.
But my boss needed someone to cover the PR booth, and I drew the short straw.
I stood by the silent auction table, straightening pamphlets for the third time, when someone cleared their throat behind me.
I turned.
Dark suit. Sharp jaw. Eyes that looked like they’d never heard the word “no.”
“You look miserable,” he said.
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
He smiled. “Everyone here looks miserable. But you look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”
“I would be,” I said. “But my boss threatened to fire me if I didn’t show up.”
He laughed. “Honest. I like that.”
He extended his hand. “James Hartwell.”
I shook it. “Emma Cross.”
His grip was warm. Too warm. I pulled my hand back.
“So, Emma Cross,” he said. “Want to escape this torture with me? There’s a balcony upstairs.”
I looked at the crowd. The PR booth was empty. No one cared.
“Sure,” I said. “Why not?”
The balcony overlooked the city. Lights stretched to the horizon.
James leaned against the railing. “Better?”
“Much better.”
We talked. About nothing. About everything. He was easy to talk to in a way that felt dangerous.
After twenty minutes, he turned to face me fully.
“I know this is forward,” he said. “But can I take you to dinner tomorrow?”
My stomach dropped.
I looked away. “I’m probably not someone you want to date.”
His brow furrowed. “Why not?”
I turned to face him, my hands gripping the railing. “Because the next person I date, I’m gonna marry.”
Silence.
James stared at me. “What?”
“I’m not doing casual anymore,” I said. “I’m twenty-eight. I’ve done the fun dates, the ‘let’s see where this goes,’ the relationships that fizzle after six months. I’m done.”
He blinked. “So you’re saying—”
“I’m saying if you take me to dinner, you better be sure,” I said. “Because I’m not wasting my time on someone who doesn’t know what they want.”
James opened his mouth. Closed it. Then he laughed—soft, surprised.
“You’re serious.”
“Dead serious.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Emma, we just met.”
“I know.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough,” I said. “You’re polite. You noticed I was uncomfortable. You didn’t grab my hand too long when we shook. And you asked me to dinner instead of asking for my number to ‘hang out.'”
His eyes narrowed, but not unkindly. “So you’ve got me all figured out?”
“No,” I said. “But I know what I want. And I’m not interested in auditioning for someone who’s still window shopping.”
James exhaled slowly. He looked out at the city, then back at me.
“What if I’m not ready for that?” he asked quietly.
I shrugged. “Then you’re not ready. And that’s okay. But I am.”
I pushed off the railing. “It was nice talking to you, James.”
I walked toward the door.
“Wait.”
I stopped.
James stepped closer, hands in his pockets. “Can I at least have your number?”
I turned. “Why?”
“Because,” he said, “I don’t know if I’m ready. But I don’t want to lose the chance to find out.”
I studied him. His eyes were serious now. No charm. No game.
“One coffee,” I said. “That’s all I’m giving you. And if you’re not sure after that, we walk away.”
He nodded slowly. “One coffee.”
I typed my number into his phone and handed it back.
“Don’t waste my time, James.”
“I won’t.”
Three days later, we met at a café on Fifth.
James was already there, two coffees on the table.
“You remembered my order,” I said, sitting down.
“You said oat milk latte. Light foam.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Impressive.”
He smiled. “I pay attention.”
We talked for an hour. Then two. The café closed, and we moved to a park bench.
James leaned back, staring at the sky. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why are you so sure about this? About wanting marriage?”
I thought about it. “Because I spent five years with someone who ‘wasn’t ready.’ And then six months later, he got engaged to someone else.”
James winced. “Ouch.”
“Yeah.” I looked at my hands. “So I decided I wasn’t doing that again. If someone doesn’t see a future with me, I’d rather know now.”
He nodded slowly. “That’s fair.”
“What about you?” I asked. “Why are you single?”
He laughed. “Honestly? I’ve been focused on work. Building my company. I always told myself I’d figure out the personal stuff later.”
“And now?”
He met my eyes. “Now I’m thirty-two. And I’m tired of going home to an empty apartment.”
Something in his voice made my chest tighten.
“So what are you looking for?” I asked.
James exhaled. “I don’t know. But I think I’m looking for someone who knows what they want. Someone who doesn’t play games.”
I smiled. “Good answer.”
He leaned forward. “Emma, I can’t promise I’m ready. But I can promise I’ll be honest with you.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
We dated for three months.
James didn’t rush. He didn’t pull back either.
He met my friends. I met his family. We talked about everything—kids, careers, where we wanted to live.
One night, over takeout on his couch, James turned to me.
“I need to tell you something.”
My heart sank. “Okay.”
“I’ve been thinking about what you said. About marriage.”
“And?”
He set down his food and took my hand. “And I don’t want to date you anymore.”
I froze. “What?”
“I don’t want to date you,” he repeated. “I want to marry you.”
My breath caught.
James reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.
“I know it’s fast,” he said. “But you were right. When you know, you know.”
He opened the box. A simple diamond ring sat inside.
“Emma Cross, will you marry me?”
I stared at him. At the ring. At the man who’d listened when I said I wouldn’t waste my time.
Tears blurred my vision.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes.”
He slid the ring onto my finger and kissed me like he’d been holding his breath for months.
“Thank God,” he murmured against my lips. “I was terrified you’d say no.”
I laughed through tears. “After all that? Not a chance.”
We got married six months later in a small ceremony with close friends and family.
At the reception, James’s best man gave a toast.
“When James told me he met a woman who said she’d only date him if he was ready to marry her, I thought he was crazy for going along with it.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
“But now I get it,” he continued. “Emma knew what she wanted. And she wasn’t afraid to say it. And because of that, my best friend is the happiest I’ve ever seen him.”
James squeezed my hand under the table.
Later, as we danced, he whispered in my ear.
“Thank you for not letting me waste your time.”
I pulled back to look at him. “Thank you for not wasting mine.”
He grinned. “Best decision I ever made.”
“Asking me to marry you?”
“No,” he said. “Asking you to coffee.”
I laughed and rested my head on his shoulder.
Three years later, we’re still married.
No regrets. No doubts.
Just two people who knew what they wanted—and weren’t afraid to say it.
