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A Proposal

EPISODE 5 - THE PROPOSAL

Sam didn’t make it to the park until nearly noon the following day. The dull throb of her freshly cleaned teeth was a welcome distraction from the questions swirling in her mind over Hank. Had he actually shown up this morning? If so, what did he think when she wasn’t there?

Sam sighed as she glanced at her phone. Still no text from him with his sister's number. Typical. She should have known. Maybe Hank had already slipped back into his usual routine, busy charming another woman, uninterested in chasing after someone like her. It wasn’t surprising. That’s what guys like him did—they moved on when things got complicated.

She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of relief at the thought of not seeing Hank today. The idea of facing him again felt overwhelming.

As she neared her usual bench, Sam slowed her steps, eyes widening in disbelief. There, sitting comfortably, taking in the scenery, as if it were his usual routine, was Hank.

Hank spotted her approaching and stood. “You’re late.” He cocked his head at an angle and flashed her a confident grin.

Sam blinked, completely thrown off guard. “You’re…still here.”

“I tried texting you but I got your number down wrong,” Hank replied casually, his hands in his pockets. “Figured you’d show up eventually.”

Sam was caught between being impressed and irritated. “I forgot I had a dentist appointment this morning,” she said, taking a seat on the bench.

Hank followed suit and gave Mozz a friendly, “hey pup”. When Mozz jumped up to greet him, happy to have another human acknowledging him, Hank obliged with an ear scratch.

“Looks like Mozz missed a few dental appointments.” He said, laughing at the sight of his toothless grin.

“Yeah, the shelter had to remove most of his teeth.” Sam said, motioning for Mozz to get down. “He’s my people repellent.”

Hank raised an eyebrow. “People repellant?”

“I come to the park to be alone.” She knew she was being rude. But she needed Hank to know this wasn’t going anywhere. “Having an ugly dog means people don’t stop to pet him or talk to me.”

“Well it’s a good thing I ran into you then,” Hank began, leaning back casually, completely unfazed by her bluntness. “Speaking of which, how is your head today?”

“It’s fine. Thanks,” Sam felt suddenly hot under her sweater. She was being a brat and he was still being so kind.

Hank broke the silence. “You said you’re a writer. What’s your blog about?”

Sam hesitated, unsure how much to share. She glanced over at him, expecting him to look bored or disinterested, but instead, Hank looked genuinely intrigued.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“It’s just a blog,” she said finally. “Nothing special.”

“Come on, it’s got to be about something. You go to the park every day for inspiration, right?”

Sam sighed. She might as well tell him, he was relentless and maybe it would scare him off and end this ridiculous quest he was on. “I write about relationships. I watch couples in the park and I build a love story around them.”

Hank’s grin widened. “You’re writing about all these people falling in love while you avoid it like the plague?”

And just like that, he’d slipped back into the self-important prick she’d pegged him as. “Excuse me? You don’t know the first thing about me or my love life.”

“I know that you come to the park to be alone, you don’t wear a ring, and you want nothing to do with me.”

Sam folded her arms across her chest. “The fact you think those things equate to me not having a love life is exactly why I want nothing to do with you.”

Hank glanced cooly at her from the corner of his eye, clearly pleased to be getting under her skin. “But am I wrong?” he asked.

Sam could bore a hole straight through him with her glare. “No, you’re not. But you still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hey, I think it’s fascinating. And now I have to know—have you ever written about me?”

Sam snorted. “You? No. My blog is about love, not... philandering.”

He winced playfully. “Ouch. Philandering, huh? Is that how you see me?”

“I’ve seen you in action, Hank,” Sam said, turning to face him more directly. “I’ve watched you pick up women in the park, smooth talk them, flirt with them, and then... what? Fuck them and move on to the next?”

Hank’s smile faltered for the first time, slapping his chest in mock injury. “Is that really what you think of me?”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

He squinted back at her. “I plead the fifth.” He sat back and took to scanning the park goers. “Hey, at least my blog articles would be ‘spicy’. Don’t women eat that shit up?”

“You’re incorrigible,” Sam shot back, shaking her head with an incredulous laugh.

“What I am, is persistent,” Hank said, turning serious. “Let me take you to dinner. A chance to prove that I’m not the guy you think I am.”

Sam stiffened. “I’m not interested in a relationship.”

“Neither am I,” Hank countered. “It’s just dinner.”

Sam narrowed her eyes, trying to gauge his sincerity. “Why?”

“Because you’re interesting,” Hank said simply. “That’s reason enough.”

Sam shook her head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not interested in being another one of your conquests.”

Hank sighed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Look, I get it. You’ve seen me flirt with women. I won’t deny that. But what you haven’t seen is what comes after—I don’t lead women on. I’m honest with them about what I want and let them decide.”

Sam was quiet, watching him carefully, weighing his words. “And what is it you want from me?”

“To know you better,” Hank insisted, his voice soft but firm. “No games. No sex. Just two people having a meal. What’s the harm in that?”

Sam hesitated. She couldn’t believe she was even considering it.

Hank continued, “meet me at The Hatch tonight at seven. If you draw the same conclusion afterward, I won’t bother you anymore.”

Before Sam could respond, Hank stood up, flashing her that trademark grin. “See you at seven,” he said with a wink before jogging off, leaving her speechless on the bench.

Sam stared after him, her heart pounding. She didn’t agree to dinner. She wasn’t going to dinner. Was she?

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