Roses, a sweet gift, charming conversation — he was checking all the boxes. When he texted me the next day, I expected a cute follow-up, but my stomach dropped when I read his message.

My best friend, Mia, meant well when she offered to set me up on a date, but her skills as a matchmaker were completely untested.

“He’s super nice, Kelly! Total gentleman. You’ll love him,” Mia insisted over the phone while I rummaged through my closet.

“You’ve never set me up before,” I reminded her. “What makes you think you know my type?”

“Because I know you better than anyone,” she replied confidently. “Plus, Chris vouches for him too. They’ve been friends for ages.”

So I agreed. And to be honest, the first impression wasn’t bad. Daniel showed up right on time, clean-shaven, confident without being cocky. He brought a single red rose — a little cliché, maybe, but endearing.

We went to a cozy Italian bistro, and the conversation flowed easily. He asked about my work, remembered details, laughed at my jokes. It wasn’t butterflies, but it was warm — hopeful. When the check came, I instinctively reached for my purse, but he gently touched my hand.

“No, no — I’ve got this,” he said with a reassuring smile. “You deserve to be treated right.”

I thanked him. It was nice. Refreshing, even. The night ended with a hug, a polite kiss on the cheek, and a “Let’s talk soon.”

The next morning, I woke up to a message from him. I smiled before opening it, half-expecting something cheesy or flirty.

“Hey Kelly, last night was great. I paid $126 for dinner, just FYI. You can Venmo me when you get the chance. My handle is @danielprime.”

At first, I thought it was a joke. I even replied with a laughing emoji. But his next text wiped the smile right off my face.

Pick up on what, exactly? The man insisted on paying. Literally touched my hand to stop me. And now he wanted a refund?

I didn’t respond. I sat there fuming for a bit, then forwarded the text to Mia with one word:
“Gentleman?”

She replied with three:
“Oh. My. God.”

Later that night, he texted again:
“Not cool to ghost me. A simple payment or reply would’ve been mature.”

I didn’t owe him money. I owed myself peace. And I realized something: manners without consistency aren’t manners — they’re manipulation.

I blocked him, deleted the chat, and poured a glass of wine. Lesson learned.