Page 11 of Ten Years and Then…
“You know, your shirt really picks up your eyes, too.” Nora had only just noticed that. And that the shirt was freshly ironed. She ran her free hand down Daniel’s sleeve. “And I didn’t figure you for having an iron in your room.” Maybe that wasn’t fair; what did she actually know about him, really? “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I was just—well, you’re a CompSci major, and I guess I was stereotyping.”
He laughed. “No need to apologize. It’s a stereotype for a reason. And you were right. I had to go down to the girls’ floor to find somebody who actually had an iron.” He went silent for a moment, and Nora saw something—indecision, maybe—in his eyes. But it passed as quickly as it appeared, and he took a deep breath. “Time to see if I was right about you.”
What did that mean? Nora had no idea what was coming next.
“I’m not sure if it’s a coincidence or an omen or what. But the girl I borrowed the iron from—well, not borrowed, she did the ironing, as long as I’m being honest. Anyway, Anjali, she’s the last girl I kissed.”
That was too absurd. She couldn’t help herself; she broke out into a fit of giggles, and she didn’t stop until she was out of breath. “That’s—you’re making that up, you have to be,” she finally said, once she got control of herself.
He laughed in return. “I told her! She said I shouldn’t say anything, and I told her you’d think it was hilarious. And I was right!” He really was cute when he laughed. Adorable. And something more—he didn’t care that he looked silly. Or sounded ridiculous. Or maybe he just trusted her that much already to be ridiculous with her, when he probably wasn’t with anyone else, except the maybe-not-a-cousin he’d told her about.
It took them both a couple of minutes to settle down, and as they started walking again—her still holding his hand—she asked, “So is there a story as to why she’s the last girl you kissed?” Maybe it wasn’t fair to pry, but he’d been the one to bring it up, and Nora was genuinely curious.
“Last and only, at least here. It was one kiss at the Christmas party last year.” He proceeded to tell her about it: a cup of punch, a moment under the mistletoe, a soft kiss that promised nothing more and then the kindest rejection she’d ever heard of.
“That’s sad. And sweet, I guess. But you know what I think most of all?”
Daniel didn’t.
“I think it’s her loss. And good luck for me.” Then she stopped, turned to face him, leaned up and kissed him—just for an instant, the slightest, quickest touch of lips. “There, now she’s not the last girl you kissed anymore. Isn’t that better?”
He didn’t say anything, but the smile on his face was answer enough.
Daniel
How could the slightest brush of her lips against his, for a fraction of a second, change his whole world? Daniel didn’t know.
He also didn’t know how Nora looked like she was glowing, under the neon light of the green lantern sign that gave the café its name, when that same light made almost everybody look pale and sickly. He wondered if she thought he was glowing, too.
He shook his head with what he knew was an idiotic grin on his face.
“What’s going on in there?” She actually tapped a finger on his forehead. Who did that? Nora Langley, apparently. And he didn’t mind one bit.
“Just getting all in my head again. I was thinking how pretty you look in this light, and how usually it makes everyone look all washed out and terrible, and then I was wondering how I looked to you under it.” Now he felt himself blushing. “I know I shouldn’t have said any of that, probably.”
She shook her head. Her hair fell to the side so nicely when she did that. “You definitely should have said it. I want to know you. Isn’t that the whole point of tonight?” She took both of his hands in hers, squeezed. “And just so you know, you do look very pretty under this light, too. But I think you’ll look even better inside. And I’ll be a lot warmer.” Then there was a rumbling, gurgling sort of sound, and for a moment Daniel felt his face go violently red, until he realized it hadn’t come from him. Nora must have realized it at the same time, but she wasn’t blushing at all. “I guess I’m pretty hungry, too.” She pushed the door to the Green Lantern Café open. “Shall we?”
Chapter 4
First Date, Part 2—Albion College (the same night)
Nora
Daniel was obviously a regular here. He didn’t wait for anyone to come to the hostess stand, he just smiled at the closest waitress, nodded his head towards the back corner of the café and took Nora’s hand and led her towards an empty booth. He didn’t even give the waitress a chance to confirm it was okay.
“I’ve been here at least once a week since freshman orientation last year. They ought to put a little plaque with my name on this booth,” he said, standing back and waiting for her to sit first. She slid in, and she noticed that the table wasn’t quite even with the seats and he’d given her the side with a little extra room.
So now she knew something important about him: he paid attention to small details. And a second thing, too: he didn’t make a show about it, he just did it as a matter of course and didn’t expect any thanks.
“I’ve only been a couple of times,” she said. “But they do make a great cheeseburger. And an even better chocolate shake.” Which she ordered when the waitress came over five minutes later. She’d given it some thought earlier, what to order. What would Daniel think if she ordered a salad? Would she spill all over her dress if she got soup and a grilled cheese? But he’d been so open, so honest on the walk over here, that she’d decided to stop overthinking and worrying, and just get exactly what she wanted.
As for him, there didn’t appear to be any thought or deliberation at all. The waitress—Belinda, because of course he called her by name—started his order for him, a patty melt and a Coke. “And I’ll tell Freddy to make sure it’s medium-rare,” and he just nodded his thanks.
“You weren’t joking,” she told him. “It’s kind of cool to have a regular order. Like in those old movies, you walk in and they’ve already got your drink lined up. By the way, do you have a regular drink? Besides Coke, I mean.”
“Nope,” he said, frowning slightly. “But I can tell you what I don’t like. Anything that gets mixed in a five gallon bucket, for starters.”
She’d been to more than her share of house parties where she’d been served out of a bucket, or, on one particularly nasty evening, a plastic trash can. “I know what you mean. You can probably use that stuff to strip paint. But,” she went on, thinking back to the summer and a night at her Aunt Rachel’s apartment. “I’ll never say no to a really good margarita.”
