Today was my first Tinder date in forever. Mister X—tall, polished, smelling like a mix of cedar and ambition—picked me up in a sleek black car and whisked me to this dimly lit Chinese spot downtown. The kind of place where the dumplings melt on your tongue and the chili oil glows like liquid gold. He was charming, all crisp jokes and steady eye contact, and for a hot second, I thought, Okay, maybe dating apps don’t entirely suck.
