The Great Cheese Catastrophe

Maya Chen stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, wondering if mascara could somehow compensate for a complete lack of dating skills. Her dark hair hung in what she hoped looked like "effortlessly tousled waves" rather than "I stuck my finger in an electrical socket," and she'd changed outfits four times before settling on jeans and a burgundy sweater that her sister claimed brought out her eyes. Maya wasn't entirely convinced her eyes needed bringing out—they seemed to work fine where they were—but she trusted her sister's fashion judgment more than her own.

"Okay, Maya," she said to her reflection, pointing a mascara wand at herself like a tiny black sword. "You're twenty-eight years old. You have a master's degree in library science. You can categorize books using the Dewey Decimal System with your eyes closed. Surely you can handle one dinner with a stranger."

Her phone buzzed with a text from her best friend Jess: How's the pre-date panic going?

Maya typed back: I've only reorganized my bookshelf twice and alphabetized my spice rack once. Personal record.

That's progress! Remember, worst case scenario, you get a free meal and a funny story.

What if he's a serial killer?

Then you'll have a REALLY funny story. Posthumously.

You're not helping.

I'm being realistic. Also, didn't your coworker Sarah set this up? She knows the guy. He's probably not a murderer.

Maya sighed, returning to her reflection. Sarah from the circulation desk had been relentless about setting her up with her cousin's roommate's brother—or something equally convoluted in the family tree of modern social connections. "He's perfect for you," Sarah had insisted. "He's funny, he reads books, and he has all his original teeth."

The bar for modern dating had apparently been set refreshingly low.

His name was Alex, and according to Sarah, he was a freelance graphic designer who enjoyed hiking, cooking, and "making people laugh until they snort." Maya had never snorted while laughing in her life, but she supposed there was a first time for everything.

She grabbed her purse—a sensible brown leather bag that could double as a weapon if necessary—and headed for the door. The restaurant was called "Fromage et Alors," which Maya's high school French suggested meant something like "Cheese and So What," which seemed like an oddly philosophical name for a dining establishment.

As she drove through the city, Maya's mind conjured increasingly elaborate worst-case scenarios. What if Alex turned out to be one of those guys who mansplained her own job to her? What if he chewed with his mouth open? What if he was secretly married? What if he was actually three raccoons in a trench coat?

She was so busy imagining the raccoon situation that she almost missed the restaurant's entrance. Fromage et Alors turned out to be a cozy little place with exposed brick walls, dim lighting, and an alarming number of cheese-related puns on chalkboard signs. "Brie Happy," read one. "You're Grate," declared another. Maya wondered if it was too late to turn around and claim a sudden onset of lactose intolerance.

Chapter 2: Enter the Disaster

The hostess, a cheerful woman with purple hair, greeted Maya with the enthusiasm typically reserved for long-lost relatives or lottery winners.

"You must be here for a date!" she exclaimed. "I can always tell. You have that perfect combination of hope and terror in your eyes. Very romantic."

"Is it that obvious?" Maya asked.

"Honey, you've been standing in the doorway for three minutes checking your phone. Either you're on a blind date or you're a very dedicated food critic. Are you Maya?"

"That's me."

"Excellent! Your gentleman friend called ahead to make sure we had the good cheese tonight. He's already here—table seven, the one trying to hide behind the menu."

Maya followed the hostess's gesture to spot a man at a corner table who was indeed holding his menu high enough to conceal most of his face. All she could see was a mop of sandy brown hair and what appeared to be a very focused frown.

As she approached the table, the man lowered his menu to reveal kind brown eyes, a slightly crooked nose, and the most genuinely nervous smile she'd seen since her own reflection ten minutes earlier.

"Maya?" he asked, half-rising from his chair in a gesture that somehow managed to knock over his water glass. "Oh, damn—sorry—I mean, hi!" He grabbed his napkin to mop up the spill, succeeded in knocking over the salt shaker, and looked at her with the expression of a man watching his dignity circle the drain.

"Are you Alex?" she asked, unable to suppress a smile.

"Guilty as charged. Also apparently guilty of being a walking disaster, but Sarah probably didn't mention that part." He gestured helplessly at the small flood on their table. "I swear I'm normally much more coordinated. I mean, not much more, but some."

Maya sat down, oddly relieved. A man who spilled things immediately was infinitely preferable to someone who had their life together enough to intimidate her.

"Don't worry about it," she said. "I once walked into a glass door so hard that the entire coffee shop applauded. Twice. Same door."

Alex's face lit up. "Really?"

"I thought it was open. Both times."

"That's actually impressive in its consistency."

A waiter appeared—a thin man with an elaborate mustache who looked like he'd stepped out of a 1920s Parisian café. His name tag read "Henri," though his accent was pure New Jersey.

"Welcome to Fromage et Alors!" Henri announced. "Tonight's special is our Cascading Cheese Plate, featuring seventeen artisanal cheeses from around the world, served with locally sourced crackers and a selection of preserves that will change your life. Would you like to start with some wine?"

Maya and Alex exchanged glances.

"The cheese plate sounds..." Maya began.

"Ambitious," Alex finished.

"I like ambitious," Maya decided. "But maybe we could start with something smaller? I don't want to commit to seventeen life-changing cheeses on a first date."

"Wise policy," Alex agreed. "I've found that cheese-based life changes should be approached gradually."

Henri looked slightly disappointed but rallied. "Perhaps our Modest Cheese Selection? Only five cheeses, and they promise to merely enrich your existence rather than completely transforming it."

"Perfect," Maya said. "And maybe some wine?"

"The house red pairs beautifully with existential enhancement," Henri said seriously.

After he left, Alex shook his head. "I'm starting to think this place takes cheese very seriously."

"I noticed. Though I appreciate their commitment to truth in advertising. Most restaurants promise to change your life, but they're usually just talking about their bathroom facilities."

Alex laughed—a genuine, surprised laugh that made his eyes crinkle. "Sarah said you were funny, but I thought that might be cousin bias."

"Sarah's my coworker, not my cousin. Though I suppose coworker bias is also a thing. What did she tell you about me?"

"That you're a librarian who reads three books a week and can find anything. Also that you once reorganized the entire reference section during a slow Tuesday and actually made it more efficient."

Maya felt herself blush. "That was supposed to be confidential information."

"She also said you have strong opinions about proper alphabetization and that you've never met a crossword puzzle you couldn't solve."

"Those are both accurate. What did she tell you to tell me about yourself?"

Alex grinned. "To mention that I'm house-trained and have never been arrested."

"Setting the bar high, I see."

"She also suggested I mention that I designed the logo for that new bookstore downtown, Chapters & Verses, and that I make excellent pancakes."

"Now we're getting somewhere. What kind of pancakes?"

"The fluffy kind. With blueberries. And occasionally chocolate chips, when I'm feeling rebellious."

Henri returned with their wine and cheese plate, which turned out to be an artistic arrangement that looked like it belonged in a museum rather than on a dinner table.

"Behold," Henri said dramatically, "from left to right we have: a mild goat cheese from Vermont that whispers of spring meadows, an aged cheddar from England that speaks of tradition and empire, a creamy brie from France that murmurs sweet secrets, a sharp blue cheese from Wisconsin that shouts bold truths, and finally, a smoked gouda from Holland that tells tales of ancient trades and distant shores."

Maya and Alex stared at the cheese plate, then at Henri, then at each other.

"Did he just narrate cheese?" Alex whispered.

"I think the cheese has backstories," Maya whispered back.

Henri beamed at them and departed, leaving them alone with their dramatically described dairy products.

"So," Alex said, picking up a cracker, "should we start with the whispering goat cheese or jump straight to the shouting blue cheese?"

"I feel like we should work our way up. Build to the climax." Maya selected a piece of the Vermont goat cheese. "Though I have to admit, I've never thought of cheese as having emotional range before."

"Wait until you try the brie. It looks like it has secrets."

They began eating, and Maya found herself relaxing for the first time all evening. Alex was easy to talk to, with a self-deprecating humor that matched her own and a way of asking questions that suggested he was actually listening to her answers.

"So what made you want to be a librarian?" he asked. "And please don't say you like books. That's like saying you became a chef because you like food."

"Actually, it was because I like organizing things, and books are more interesting than spreadsheets." Maya paused, considering. "Also, there's something satisfying about helping people find exactly what they're looking for, even when they don't know what that is."

"That's like graphic design, actually. Clients usually know they want something to look 'good' or 'professional,' but they can't tell you what that means. Half my job is translating vague concepts into actual visual elements."

"What's the weirdest request you've ever gotten?"

Alex grinned and took a sip of wine. "A guy wanted a logo for his pet psychic business that 'captured the spiritual connection between humans and animals while also conveying reliability and professionalism.'"

"What did you make him?"

"A golden retriever with a halo sitting next to a crystal ball. He loved it."

Maya nearly choked on her wine. "That's either brilliant or terrible."

"Por que no los dos?" Alex said. "Though I have to ask—what's the weirdest reference question you've gotten?"

"A woman called last month asking for books about 'how to tell if your neighbor is a vampire, but not the sparkly kind.'"

"What did you recommend?"

"I started with folklore and mythology, then moved on to some practical guides to identifying nocturnal behavior patterns. She seemed satisfied."

"You didn't ask follow-up questions?"

"Rule number one of reference work: never ask why someone needs to know something. You just help them find the answer."

They were interrupted by a commotion at the table next to them, where a man in an expensive suit was loudly complaining about his cheese selection.

"This is not what I ordered!" he announced to the restaurant at large. "I specifically asked for aged Parmigiano-Reggiano, and this is clearly a pedestrian grocery store Parmesan!"

Henri appeared at his table like a well-dressed magician. "Sir, I assure you that our Parmigiano-Reggiano is imported directly from the Emilia-Romagna region of Italy and aged for precisely twenty-four months—"

"Are you questioning my palate?" the man interrupted. "I've been featured in Cheese Quarterly magazine!"

Maya and Alex watched the drama unfold with the fascination typically reserved for nature documentaries.

"There's a Cheese Quarterly magazine?" Maya whispered.

"Apparently," Alex replied. "And this guy's famous in the cheese world."

"I didn't know the cheese world had celebrities."

The argument escalated, with Henri growing increasingly flustered and the cheese celebrity becoming more indignant. Other diners began to stare, and Maya noticed that their waiter was starting to sweat despite the restaurant's cool temperature.

"Should we do something?" she asked.

"Like what? I don't think either of us is qualified to mediate a cheese dispute."

At that moment, the man stood up abruptly, gesturing wildly as he declared that his reputation would not allow him to consume such inferior dairy products. In his dramatic flourish, he knocked into Henri, who stumbled backward into Maya and Alex's table.

What happened next seemed to occur in slow motion: Henri's arm caught their cheese plate, sending it flying through the air in a perfect arc. The five carefully curated cheeses, each with their poetic descriptions and artisanal origins, sailed across the restaurant like dairy projectiles.

The whispering goat cheese landed in a woman's hair. The traditional English cheddar hit a businessman's laptop. The secretive brie splattered against the window. The truth-shouting blue cheese made a direct hit on the cheese celebrity's expensive jacket. And the tale-telling smoked gouda somehow managed to land perfectly in an empty wine glass three tables away.

The restaurant fell silent.

Henri stared at the destruction, his mustache quivering with horror. The cheese celebrity looked down at his blue-cheese-decorated jacket with the expression of a man whose entire worldview had just crumbled. The woman with goat cheese in her hair was picking dairy products out of her curls with admirable composure.

And Maya and Alex sat frozen at their table, covered in cracker crumbs and facing the remnants of their romantic dinner.

"Well," Alex said after a long moment, "that was..."

"Catastrophic?" Maya suggested.

"I was going to say memorable."

Chapter 3: Cleanup and Revelation

Henri rushed over to their table, his face flushed with embarrassment and what Maya suspected might be the beginning of a panic attack.

"I am so, so sorry!" he said, wringing his hands. "This has never happened before! Well, not with cheese. There was the great ravioli incident of 2019, but we don't speak of that. Please, let me get you new everything—new cheese, new table, new restaurant if necessary!"

Maya looked at Alex, who was picking a piece of cracker out of his hair with remarkable calm.

"You know what?" she said, surprising herself. "Don't worry about it. These things happen."

Alex nodded. "Besides, we got to witness cheese history in the making. How many people can say they were present for the Great Fromage et Alors Cheese Catastrophe of 2025?"

Henri's mustache stopped quivering. "You're not angry?"

"Are you kidding?" Maya said. "This is the most exciting first date I've ever been on. Usually, the most dramatic thing that happens is someone ordering dessert."

The cheese celebrity, meanwhile, was still standing in the middle of the restaurant, blue cheese dripping from his jacket, looking like a man who had just witnessed the heat death of the universe.

"My jacket," he said faintly. "It's Italian leather."

"And now it's Italian leather with Wisconsin blue cheese," Alex observed helpfully. "Think of it as fusion fashion."

This did not appear to comfort the man.

Henri bustled around, trying to clean up the chaos while simultaneously apologizing to every affected table. The woman with the goat cheese hair was being remarkably good-natured about the whole thing, even taking a selfie with her dairy-enhanced hairstyle. The businessman was frantically trying to clean cheese off his laptop keyboard with increasingly desperate hand gestures.

"I should probably help," Maya said, standing up.

"Help how?" Alex asked.

"I don't know. I'm good at organizing disasters?"

She walked over to the businessman's table, where he was making small sounds of distress while staring at his cheese-covered computer.

"Excuse me," she said. "I work with computers at the library. If you turn it off right now and don't try to use it until it's completely clean and dry, you might be able to save it."

The man looked at her with the gratitude typically reserved for life-saving medical professionals. "Really?"

"Really. Do you have rice at home?"

"Rice?"

"Put the laptop in a bag with uncooked rice for twenty-four hours. The rice will absorb any moisture that got inside. It's an old trick."

"You're a lifesaver," he said, carefully powering down his computer. "I have three presentations on here that I haven't backed up."

"Always back up your work," Maya said gently, then returned to Alex, who was watching her with an expression she couldn't quite read.

"What?" she asked.

"You just calmly solved that guy's crisis while covered in cracker crumbs."

"It wasn't that impressive. Basic tech support."

"Maya, you turned a disaster into a teaching moment. That's actually incredible."

Before she could respond, Henri appeared at their table again, this time carrying a bottle of wine and wearing an expression of determined hospitality.

"Please," he said, "allow me to offer you our finest wine, on the house, as an apology for this evening's... unprecedented events. And perhaps you'd be interested in dinner at one of our sister restaurants? Somewhere with fewer projectile dairy products?"

Maya looked at Alex, who raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

"Actually," she said, making a decision that surprised her, "would it be terrible if we just got the check and went somewhere else? Not because of the cheese thing," she added quickly, seeing Henri's face fall. "Because this has been the most interesting first date ever, and I kind of want to see what happens next."

Alex's face broke into a grin. "Are you asking me to continue this disaster of a date?"

"If you're brave enough."

"Lady, after surviving a cheese catastrophe with you, I'm pretty sure I can handle anything."

Henri looked relieved and hurried off to prepare their check, muttering what sounded like French prayers of gratitude.

"So," Alex said, "where does one go after a cheese-related disaster? I'm new to this type of crisis management."

Maya considered their options. It was only eight o'clock, and she found herself genuinely reluctant to end the evening. Despite—or perhaps because of—the chaos, she was having more fun than she'd had on a date in years.

"Well," she said, "there's a bowling alley down the street that serves surprisingly good nachos. Or we could walk through the park if you want to continue our conversation somewhere less likely to result in food-related injuries."

"Bowling alley nachos sound perfect. Though I should warn you—I'm terrible at bowling."

"How terrible?"

"I once scored a negative number. I'm still not sure how that's mathematically possible."

Maya laughed—a real, surprised laugh that made her eyes water. "Negative bowling scores are actually fascinating from a statistical standpoint."

"See? I knew you'd find the academic angle."

They settled their check (Henri refused to charge them for the cheese plate, claiming it was "cosmically inappropriate" to pay for cheese that never reached their mouths), and stepped out into the cool evening air.

"You know," Maya said as they walked toward the bowling alley, "this is not how I imagined this evening going."

"Better or worse than your expectations?"

She considered the question seriously. "Definitely better. I was expecting awkward small talk and wondering if we had anything in common. Instead, I got to see you handle a cheese emergency with grace and humor."

"Grace might be overstating it. I believe my exact words were 'holy crap, there's cheese everywhere.'"

"That was actually the appropriate response to the situation."

The bowling alley, Paradise Lanes, turned out to be a wonderfully retro establishment with neon lights, disco balls, and the kind of aggressively cheerful decor that made Maya feel like she'd stepped into a 1980s movie. The smell of pizza and the sound of crashing pins filled the air.

"Two games and a nacho plate?" the teenager behind the counter asked with the bored efficiency of someone who'd had this exact conversation eight hundred times.

"Make it three games," Alex said. "I have a feeling I'm going to need the practice."

They found their lane and sat down to change into the rental bowling shoes—those uniquely attractive red and blue monstrosities that somehow made everyone look like they were auditioning for a community theater production of "Grease."

"These shoes are definitely a look," Maya said, examining her feet.

"I think they're designed to humble you before you even start playing. Like a spiritual cleansing ritual, but for bowling."

Maya picked up a ball and tested its weight. "So what's your strategy here? Are you one of those people who takes forever lining up their shot, or do you just hurl the ball and hope for the best?"

"Oh, definitely the hurling approach. I find that overthinking leads to even worse results." Alex selected a ball that looked like it weighed approximately as much as a small car. "What about you?"

"I'm methodical. I calculate angles and velocity and try to account for lane conditions."

"That sounds very scientific."

"I like to think of bowling as applied physics with a competitive element."

Alex's first throw confirmed his earlier claims about his bowling abilities. The ball traveled down the lane at an impressive speed before veering sharply to the right and landing in the gutter with a sound that could only be described as disappointed.

"That's my signature move," he said cheerfully. "The Immediate Gutter Ball. I've perfected it over years of practice."

Maya's first throw, by contrast, knocked down seven pins in a neat cluster.

"Show-off," Alex said, but he was grinning.

"It's all about the physics," Maya replied, lining up her second shot. "Angle of approach, rotation of the ball, the coefficient of friction between the ball and the lane..."

Her second ball knocked down two more pins, leaving one standing forlornly in the back corner.

"A spare!" Alex announced. "Very impressive. Meanwhile, I'm pretty sure my ball is still rolling around in that gutter somewhere."

Their nacho plate arrived as Alex was preparing for his second frame, and Maya had to admit that Paradise Lanes took their nachos seriously. The plate was approximately the size of a hubcap and covered with enough cheese to supply a small restaurant.

"Well," she said, looking at the cheesy mountain before them, "at least this cheese is staying put."

"Famous last words," Alex replied, then promptly threw another gutter ball.

As the games progressed, Maya found herself enjoying Alex's running commentary more than her own steadily improving score. He treated each throw as a small adventure, complete with dramatic sound effects and post-game analysis that would have been more appropriate for Olympic competitions.

"And there goes another one!" he announced as his ball found the gutter again. "That's seven gutter balls in a row, folks. I think that might be a personal record."

"You're remarkably cheerful for someone who's losing this badly," Maya observed.

"Are you kidding? This is the most fun I've had in months. Usually, when I go bowling with friends, they get frustrated with how bad I am. You're actually enjoying the disaster."

"I like disasters, apparently. This whole evening has been one catastrophe after another, and I'm having a great time."

Alex paused in the middle of selecting his next ball. "Really?"

"Really. The cheese explosion, your creative approach to bowling, these nachos that could feed a small army... it's all been unexpectedly wonderful."

"Huh." Alex looked thoughtful. "Most people expect dates to go smoothly. Like, dinner conversation and polite getting-to-know-you questions and everyone being on their best behavior."

"That sounds boring."

"It is boring. I've been on a lot of boring dates."

Maya settled back in her plastic chair, a nacho chip loaded with enough cheese to satisfy Henri's artistic standards. "What's the most boring date you've ever been on?"

"Oh, that's easy. Coffee with a woman who spent forty-five minutes explaining her color-coding system for organizing her closet. Don't get me wrong—organization is great, but she had subcategories for different shades of beige."

"That does sound excessive. What about the worst date?"

Alex considered this while watching Maya line up her next shot. "Dinner with someone who turned out to be researching a article about 'dating in the digital age.' She was taking notes. During dinner. And she asked me to sign a waiver."

Maya's ball veered slightly but still managed to knock down six pins. "She was using you as a case study?"

"Apparently. She said I represented 'the modern millennial male struggling with authentic connection in an increasingly superficial world.'"

"Ouch."

"Yeah, that one stung. What about you? Worst date story?"

Maya picked up her second ball, thinking. "A guy who spent the entire evening talking about his ex-girlfriend. And I mean the entire evening. He showed me photos."

"No."

"Oh yes. Vacation photos, birthday photos, photos of them at restaurants where he then took me. It was like dating a very sad tour guide."

Alex winced. "That's brutal."

"The worst part was that she seemed lovely. They'd apparently broken up because he 'wasn't ready for commitment,' but he clearly wasn't ready to let go either."

Maya's second ball picked up the spare, and she turned back to Alex with a satisfied smile.

"You know what I like about this?" she said, gesturing around the bowling alley.

"The fashion-forward footwear?"

"The fact that we're both terrible at pretending to be people we're not. You're not trying to impress me with your bowling skills, and I'm not pretending that I don't find your complete inability to hit pins oddly charming."

Alex paused with his bowling ball halfway to his chest. "You find my bowling charming?"

"I find your attitude charming. You're having fun despite being objectively terrible at this. Most people would be frustrated or embarrassed."

"Well," Alex said, "I learned a long time ago that I have two choices when I'm bad at something: get upset about it, or find a way to enjoy it anyway. Life's too short to spend it being frustrated with yourself."

He threw his ball, which this time managed to stay out of the gutter long enough to knock down three pins.

"Progress!" Maya cheered.

"I'm practically a professional now."

They were halfway through their second game when Maya realized she hadn't thought about her pre-date anxiety in hours. The evening had taken on a comfortable rhythm of conversation, laughter, and Alex's increasingly creative descriptions of his bowling failures.

"Can I ask you something?" Alex said as Maya prepared for her turn.

"Shoot."

"When Sarah first mentioned setting us up, what was your first thought?"

Maya paused, ball in hand. It was a surprisingly direct question, and she found herself wanting to give an honest answer.

"Terror," she said. "Absolute terror. I imagined all the ways it could go wrong, all the awkward silences, all the reasons we might not have anything in common. I think I reorganized my entire apartment twice just to avoid thinking about it."

"And now?"

She looked at him—really looked at him. His hair was still slightly messy from running his hands through it, he had a small nacho cheese stain on his shirt, and his face was open and genuinely curious.

"Now I'm thinking that maybe the things that go wrong are more interesting than the things that go right," she said.

Alex smiled—not his earlier nervous smile, but something warmer and more confident. "I was thinking the same thing."

Maya threw her ball and managed to knock down all ten pins. As the automated scorer celebrated her strike with flashing lights and triumphant sounds, she realized that this was the moment she'd remember when she looked back on this evening—not the cheese catastrophe or the terrible bowling shoes, but the way Alex looked when she told him that disasters could be more interesting than perfection.

Chapter 4: The Twist

They finished their third game (Maya won all three, Alex achieved a personal best score of 67) and were preparing to leave when Maya's phone buzzed with a text message. She glanced at it automatically, then did a double-take.

The message was from an unknown number: Is this Maya Chen from the library? This is David - we met at Fromage et Alors tonight. The guy with the cheese in his hair? I mean, the guy whose laptop got cheese on it. I wanted to thank you again for the rice tip - it worked! Would you like to get coffee sometime?

Maya stared at the message, then at Alex, who was tying his regular shoes with the focused concentration of someone trying not to eavesdrop.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"This is... weird," Maya said. "Remember the guy whose laptop got hit by the cheddar?"

"The one you helped with the rice trick?"

"He just asked me out."

Alex's hands stilled on his shoelaces. "Oh."

"Via text message. Apparently, he got my number from..." Maya scrolled through her recent messages, looking for clues. "I have no idea how he got my number."

"Maybe he's a very determined laptop owner."

Maya was quiet for a moment, looking at the message, then at Alex, then back at the message. Something about the situation struck her as absurdly funny.

"You know what the really weird part is?" she said.

"What?"

"Three hours ago, I was terrified that this date would be a disaster. And it has been a complete disaster—cheese explosions, gutter balls, nachos the size of furniture—and it's been the best evening I've had in months."

Alex finished with his shoes and looked up at her. "And now you've got another date offer."

"From a guy I helped for thirty seconds during a food-related crisis." Maya shook her head. "Dating is strange."

"Are you going to text him back?"

It was a fair question, and Maya realized that Alex was trying very hard to keep his expression neutral while asking it.

"I'm going to tell him I'm flattered, but I'm not interested," she said. "Because I am flattered. It's nice to be asked out, even if it's by someone whose main memory of me involves cheese and computer repair tips."

"But?"

"But I'd rather see what happens with the guy who made me laugh until my sides hurt and who thinks my organizational skills are charming instead of obsessive."

Alex's face broke into a grin—the same surprised, genuine expression that had made her like him in the first place.

"Really?"

"Really. Although I should warn you—I'm probably going to want to organize your apartment at some point. It's a compulsion."

"I was hoping you'd say that. My closet is a disaster zone."

Maya typed a polite rejection text to the laptop guy, then put her phone away.

"So," she said, "what happens now? Do we part ways and wait three days to call each other, or do we acknowledge that we've already survived multiple disasters together and skip the artificial dating timeline?"

"I vote for skipping the timeline," Alex said. "I was actually going to ask if you wanted to get coffee tomorrow morning, but that seems insufficient after tonight. How do you follow up cheese explosions and bowling catastrophes with something as mundane as coffee?"

Maya considered this. "What if it's not mundane coffee? What if we go to that place downtown that does the elaborate latte art? We could see if they can make foam sculptures that tell stories, like Henri's cheese descriptions."

"Perfect. And if the latte art is disappointing, we'll have our first shared disappointment as a couple."

"Are we a couple?" Maya asked, surprised by how natural the word sounded.

"I don't know," Alex said honestly. "But I know I want to find out. Tonight has been... unexpected in the best possible way."

They walked out of Paradise Lanes together, past the neon lights and into the cool night air. The street was quieter now, and Maya found herself reluctant for the evening to end.

"I should probably drive you back to your car," Alex said. "Unless you want to walk? It's only a few blocks."

"Let's walk. I'm not ready for this to be over yet."

As they strolled back toward Fromage et Alors, Maya reflected on the evening's events. Six hours ago, she'd been paralyzed by the thought of making small talk with a stranger. Now she was walking through the city with someone who felt less like a stranger and more like a possibility she hadn't known she was looking for.

"Can I tell you something?" she said as they paused at a crosswalk.

"Always."

"I almost canceled tonight. Three times. I kept thinking of excuses—sudden illness, family emergency, alien abduction."

"What changed your mind?"

"Jess—my friend—said that the worst that could happen was I'd get a funny story out of it." Maya smiled. "She was right, but not in the way she meant."

"What do you mean?"

"I thought the funny story would be about how awkward and terrible the date was. Instead, it's about how perfect a disaster can be when you're with the right person."

The crosswalk light changed, but neither of them moved.

"Maya," Alex said, "I have to ask you something, and I want you to know that there's no wrong answer."

"Okay."

"Do you think this evening was a series of random accidents, or do you think maybe we needed the disasters to figure out that we actually like each other?"

Maya considered the question. The cheese explosion that had horrified Henri and traumatized the cheese celebrity had somehow broken the ice between them in a way that no amount of polite conversation could have managed. Alex's terrible bowling had revealed his sense of humor and his ability to find joy in failure. Even the text from the laptop guy had given her a moment of clarity about what she actually wanted.

"I think," she said slowly, "that maybe disasters are just another way for the universe to introduce people who belong together. Like a very messy form of matchmaking."

"Cosmic chaos theory?"

"Something like that."

They crossed the street and walked the remaining block to the restaurant parking lot, where Maya's car sat under a streetlight like a patient friend waiting for her to remember it existed.

"So," Alex said as they reached her car, "coffee tomorrow at ten? And if they can't make storytelling latte art, we'll consider it our first mutual disappointment?"

"It's a date," Maya said, then laughed. "Our second date, technically. Though I think tonight counts as at least three regular dates' worth of getting to know each other."

"Agreed. We've covered disaster