Misinterpreting the Signals

Penny’s brain, a notoriously overzealous detective agency, had been working overtime since the vintage game night. Leo, bless his immaculately coiffed head, had been *perfect*. He’d navigated her slightly-too-enthusiastic explanation of Settlers of Catan with the grace of a seasoned diplomat, hadn't flinched when she’d accidentally elbowed him in the ribs during a particularly tense dice roll, and even managed to find her misplaced dice bag with a patience usually reserved for bomb disposal experts. Yet, despite the overwhelming evidence pointing towards ‘potential soulmate,’ Penny’s internal jury remained in deliberation, her overthinking gears grinding louder than a rusty Ferris wheel.

It all started with a seemingly innocuous comment at the end of the evening. As they stood by her door, the lingering scent of burnt sugar from her ill-fated attempt at crème brûlée (a testament to her anxiety, she’d later realize) hung in the air. Leo had smiled, a genuine, crinkle-eyed smile that made her stomach do a little flutter-kick.

“That was… an experience,” he’d said, his voice warm. Penny’s mind immediately translated this into: *‘An experience I’d rather not repeat, thank you very much.’*