The Grocery Store Incident

Yesterday I ran into my neighbor at Whole Foods while buying ingredients for a romantic dinner I was planning. My cart was full of the works - fresh roses, expensive wine, artisanal cheese, those ridiculously overpriced macarons that photograph beautifully. I looked like I was planning the date of a lifetime.

"Someone's getting lucky tonight!" she said with a wink, eyeing my haul.

I just smiled and nodded, because what else could I do? Tell her I was actually working? That this romantic feast was as carefully planned as a business presentation? That I'd spent twenty minutes comparing wine labels not because I'm passionate about vintages, but because the right bottle creates the perfect mood for what I do?

It got me thinking about how weird my life looks from the outside. I'm the woman who always has fresh flowers in her apartment, who owns more lingerie than regular underwear, who can recommend the most romantic restaurants in the city off the top of her head. To everyone else, I must seem like I'm living in a constant state of romance.

And in a way, I am. Just not how they imagine.

I know which candles burn the longest without dripping wax. I can arrange a cheese board that looks effortless but took fifteen minutes to perfect. I've memorized which songs create the best atmosphere for intimate conversation. These aren't skills you learn in regular life - they're professional expertise disguised as natural romance.

Sometimes I catch myself applying these skills to my actual life and it feels strange. Like when I automatically arranged the takeout containers on my coffee table last week to look more appealing, even though I was eating alone. Or when I lit candles for my bath not because it was romantic, but because that's just how I live now.

My neighbor probably went home thinking I have the most exciting love life in our building. The truth is more complicated. I do live surrounded by romance - I just happen to be the director rather than the star of these particular love stories.

But you know what? I'm okay with that. There's something satisfying about being really, really good at creating magic, even if it's not always for me. And who knows? Maybe all this practice is preparing me for when it is my turn to be swept off my feet.

Until then, I'll keep perfecting my macaron selection technique.

With professional romance,

Celeste