"Soo, how'd the date with Fiona work out?" asks Cassie with a sly grin as she slurps on her glass of milkshake. She's been arranging all sorts of romantic outings for you with her seemingly endless array of friends, acting, in her own words, as your very own personal matchmaker.
"I haven't asked her out yet," you reply, "I don't think she connected that well with me."
Cassie's face turns to immediate dismay, and she lets out an annoyed huff. "Geez, ${character.name}, you're a really picky guy, aren't you?" says Cassie. "I swear, I don't understand you at all. Is there anyone you even like?"
"Of course I do!" you blurt out in response, causing her to beam up in anticipation.
"Oh? Who is it, then? Tell me! Tell me!" she squeals giddily.
"Well," you utter, scratching your cheek in an attempt to avoid her inquisitioning eyes. "It's you."
The freckled tomboy is taken aback by your nonchalant confession, but she quickly handwaves it as innocuous teasing and snickers in return. "Oh, yeah, sure! My wingwoman prowesses are just too irresistible, huh?"
Seeing that she didn't register your admission as truth, you lean in to grab her hand in yours. Her eyes widen in confusion and shock as you tightly hold her soft hand under the grasp of your sweaty palms.
"I mean it, Cass," you say, with a resolute befitting a groom during a wedding procession. "It's you. It's always been you," you admit. Her expression of mild shock blooms into a full-blown fluster.
"M-me?" she stammers, her face glowing a bright red hue. "B-but what about all those girls I set you up with?"
"They were your friends. Of course I was going to go on a couple of dates with them. I didn't want to hurt their feelings," you reply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "But none of them were you."
Cassie