Laura Miller had always been skeptical of office parties and never expected them to deliver any life-changing surprises. At thirty-two, she had accepted a hard truth: most men she met were either already wearing a wedding band, looking for a meal ticket, or simply intimidated by a successful woman with a laptop bag. She had long ago decided that romance was just an optional add-on to her thriving career.
Her days in the tech sector consumed all her time, providing a six-figure income and silencing the occasional pressure from her family about “settling down.” The annual holiday banquet at a downtown steakhouse didn’t promise much excitement. By late evening, the crowd had split into the usual cliques: developers arguing over code, accountants trading tax jokes, and the sales team flirting with marketing.
Laura was sipping a glass of Chardonnay, scrolling through her phone and planning a quiet exit, when a stranger sat down at her table. “Is this seat taken?” the man asked politely. He looked to be about thirty-five, with a well-groomed beard, a touch of silver at his temples, a tailored suit, and sharp, expressive grey eyes.
His smile seemed genuine, as if he actually cared about the answer. “Please, go ahead,” Laura said, tucking her phone into her purse. “I’m Mike,” he said, offering a hand. He explained that his group had headed out for a smoke break and he wasn’t in the mood for the cold December air.
Laura introduced herself, noting that her own colleagues were busy gossiping. The conversation flowed with surprising ease. Mike worked as a manager at a high-end European car dealership on the outskirts of the city.
He turned out to be a great storyteller, making Laura laugh more than she had in months. He didn’t try to impress her with his bank account or name-drop influential friends; instead, he joked about the impossibility of finding a decent taco stand open after midnight.
In turn, Laura talked about the grind of being a senior analyst—the deadlines, the endless Zoom calls, and the pressure of the tech world. Mike listened intently, nodding at the right moments. When the party ended, he walked her to her Uber, asked for her number, and sent a polite “nice to meet you” text the very next morning.
A few days later, they met for dinner at a quiet bistro. Mike had reserved a window table and acted like a perfect gentleman—attentive but not overbearing. Laura found herself thinking that this kind of old-school respect was a rare find these days.
Usually, men her age were either carrying baggage from a messy divorce or were too self-absorbed to notice anyone else’s needs. Mike was different. He’d send flowers to her office just because, check in on her during a stressful week, and always insisted on picking up the check without making a show of it.
The first few months of the year passed in a pleasant romantic haze. Laura slowly let Mike into her world, sharing stories about her career and her parents back in Iowa, who were constantly asking when she’d bring a nice man home.
She only briefly mentioned her living situation when Mike asked about her neighborhood. Laura casually noted that she owned a three-bedroom condo in a historic building downtown, inherited from her grandmother. Mike simply nodded, calling it a “great legacy,” and didn’t press for details.
