You’ll make dinner and I’ll be the show (FM, sweet slow-ish burn, fiction, fem pov, con)

It was our second date. Not much, I know. I met him at 5 o’clock, next to the metro station, two blocks down from his apartment. I was carrying my ukulele with me as per his request. “We’ll have dinner and a show” he said, his voice muffled by his surgical mask. He would make dinner and I would be the show. We walked through the cold, our glasses fogging up, talking about sweet nothings. How was our day, what we had for lunch and other such trivial things. By the time we got to his apartment I was freezing a bit, and I could see that he wasn’t having the best of times either. We climbed the stairs to the 4th floor, his building lacking an elevator.