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He takes his churro, studying it with his usual intensity, while I try to calm my racing thoughts. Way to go, Vanessa. You had a perfect moment and you ruined it with pastries. Becca's going to laugh herself sick when she hears about this.

"The cinnamon-sugar ratio is quite precise," Jack says, and I almost want to cry at how normal he's acting while I'm having an internal meltdown.

"Yeah," I manage. "They're great."

The chocolate sauce drips onto my fingers, and I focus on that instead of the missed opportunity still hanging in the air between us.

CHAPTER8

JACK

The street lights cast long shadows across Vanessa's face as we walk away from the food festival. Her fingers twitch near mine, but she keeps pulling back, like a dance where one partner keeps missing their cue. The scent of various cuisines lingers on our clothes – a mix of spices and sweetness that reminds me of home, though not quite the same.

"That Vietnamese coffee ice cream was interesting," I say, watching her expression soften. "The way they blend bitter and sweet – reminds me of how humans approach relationships."

"Only you would turn ice cream into an anthropology lesson." Her laugh carries through the cool evening air.

We stop at a crosswalk. The red hand blinks at us, and I notice how she shifts her weight from one foot to another. Her body language screams uncertainty – incredible how humans telegraph their emotions so clearly, yet often miss these signals in each other.

"I had a wonderful time tonight, Vanessa."

"Me too. Thanks for trying all those weird foods with me. Most guys would've stuck to the burger stand."

"I appreciate experiencing new things. It's what makes life interesting." The light changes, but I don't move. "Would you like me to walk you home?"

"I..." Her pulse quickens – I can almost hear it. "Maybe not tonight. I should probably catch the bus."

"Of course." I smile, keeping my distance despite every instinct telling me to close it. "Thank you for sharing this experience with me. It was enlightening."

"Enlightening?" She shakes her head, but she's smiling. "You really are something else, Jack."

"Good night, Vanessa."

I watch her walk toward the bus stop, noting how she glances back twice before turning the corner. The tension in her body has eased. Good. Sometimes the most effective strategy is knowing when to retreat.

Back in my apartment, I pull up the research database on my tablet. The screen's blue light illuminates my true form as I let the glamour fade – maintaining it takes energy I'd rather spend on research right now.

"Computer, analyze human cultural significance of first romantic kisses."

Thousands of results flood my screen. Movies, books, scientific studies, psychological analyses. Humans put an extraordinary amount of importance on this simple pressing of lips.

"Cross-reference with modern dating expectations and success rates."

"According to current data," the AI responds, "86% of humans remember their first kiss with a new partner in detail, even decades later."

I scroll through countless accounts. The Empire State Building. Paris. Under fireworks. In the rain. During danger. After triumph. The patterns emerge – humans crave novelty and meaning in equal measure.

"Fascinating." I lean back in my chair, horns scraping against the leather. "They've turned a basic biological impulse into performance art."

My fingers trace through historical records. Romeo and Juliet. Gone with the Wind. Spider-Man's upside-down kiss. Each culture adds its own flourishes, but the core remains: anticipation, setting, timing.

"Display psychological impact studies."

The data streams past: dopamine levels, oxytocin release, memory formation. The science is clear – a well-executed first kiss can literally change brain chemistry.

"Computer, what percentage of failed relationships cite a disappointing first kiss as a factor?"

"Twenty-three percent."