Opening the book…
For my penultimate secret I offer a discipline so gruelling that few have the constitution for it: arriving on time. I know. The romance of it all. Yet showing up when you said you would is one of the plainest ways to tell someone their time matters as much as yours, and lateness, however breezily apologised for, whispers the opposite. Keeping a person waiting alone at a bar, checking the door, wondering if they have been stood up, is not fashionable, it is just a bit thoughtless, and it makes a nervous evening more nervous. Punctuality is unglamorous and enormously kind, the sort of small consideration that sets a warm tone before a word is even spoken.
Plan to arrive a few minutes early rather than optimistically on the dot, and build in a buffer for the traffic, the parking, the last-minute nerves that always take longer than you think. If you are genuinely going to be late, message as soon as you know, with a real estimate, so they can order a drink and relax instead of watching the door. Treat their time as precisely as valuable as your own, because it is. The reward for this crushing sacrifice is that your date's first impression is of someone considerate and reliable, which is a very pleasant note to open on and costs nothing but leaving the house a little sooner.
Cities conspire, trains fail, and the occasional genuine delay is forgivable when handled with a prompt and honest heads-up. The rule is about respect and communication, not military precision; nobody is grading you to the second.