Oh... Gods. Another date. Another man. Another nightmare.

And this one's asking me to talk about my writing.

What a way to make it worse.

"Oh... Mostly commissions," I say, smiling sheepishly and averting my gaze. As long as he stays content with that answer, all will be well.

But of course, he wasn't, because who is? Curiosity is a fearsome warrior.

"What kind of commissions?" He asks, leaning forward to show his enthrallment with my sub-par writing hobby.

"Mostly romance, really; that's quite popular nowadays," I grin, hoping to throw him off my back, to no avail. His eyes gleam with excitement, so I offer him a bit more to chew on. "I work on my novel occasionally, but it's truly not much,"

"I'm a romance reader myself," he leaned back, cutting my words off and crossing his arms, as if content with his actions.

"Is that so?" I question, clearing my throat and brushing my hair out of my face. "Who's your favorite? I know it can be hard to choose--"

"Colleen Hoover, as of now," he tilted his head with a smug smile that read 'I researched this just for you, and now I finally have my moment to use it.'

"Ah," I nodded. "Excuse me a moment."

With that, I stood, gathered my things, tucked my wallet under my arm, and left right in his view.