The Local One, Part 1: Desserts, Detours, and the Draw of a Big Personality

A spa break, a midnight drive, and the beginning of something that wasn’t meant to begin.

I used to own a restaurant and cocktail bar in Barcelona. Food, for me, isn’t a small thing. It’s one of the great loves of my life. Not just the food itself, but the experience—beautiful places, great cocktails, local ingredients. A well-designed plate, a warm light, a quiet clink of glasses on a sunny afternoon. That’s where most of my joy lives: aesthetic locations, great food, and the sun.

So I wasn’t expecting to meet someone in the quiet little town I now live in whose whole world was aesthetic food and restaurants. I hadn’t planned to date much locally, especially not so soon. But then—there he was.

He lived in a small city nearby. He had sweet eyes and a big personality. And somehow, he pulled me in.

His chat was cheeky in a way that felt familiar, like we understood each other. I wasn’t looking for anything serious—and that didn’t change—but I found myself wanting to be around him, to be wanted by him.

He paid attention to details. Probably a professional skill—he owned restaurants and had a Michelin star. Hosting was in his blood. But to be on the receiving end of that kind of care again, the subtle effort to make sure I was happy, brought me back to when dating felt easy. To London boys with good manners and big energy, curious and playful, showing you the city, showing you off.

I’ve always had a thing for men with presence. Men who draw a room toward them. Something about being the girl who stands beside them—who supports them—has always felt natural to me. I now know this is a projection. A pattern I’m training myself out of. (Daddy issues, if we’re being honest.)

But there he was. Local (enough), handsome. Also recently divorced… A little chubby and strangely, that made me feel safe. A bit of softness that made his very ego-centric personality feel less threatening.

He won me quickly.

Our first date was messy. Chaotic. We were both still new to dating post-divorce. But the kiss at the end—the way he pulled me in—made me forget all the awkwardness.

Our second date happened by accident. I was on a spa break and casually mentioned that the desserts were shit. He replied, “I’ll bring you one from mine after work.” I didn’t fully believe him—but he was wild enough that it didn’t seem entirely out of character.

And then he did.

I got the text, “i’m coming”, a snapshot of a box of pastries and he was on his way.

He made it in three hours. Showed up just before midnight, in time for a last drink at the gorgeous hotel bar, with a beautifully presented box in hand like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He stayed the night, then he drove back to work, and I went off to my spa appointments.

Two days later when I was leaving the hotel, he convinced me to train to his instead of mine. It added no time to my journey, so I figured, why not. I was in.

That night felt a mix of relaxed and charmed. He took me to his restaurants, introduced me to everyone, let me taste everything. He wanted to show me off. To share me with his world.

I was confused—but I was intrigued.

To be continued…..