He smiles. “They wouldn’t believe it.” He shakes his head and scoots off the bed. “I should probably go check on the kids one more time before bed. Just to make sure everything’s okay.”
I nod. “Right. Yeah. Just to be sure.”
I regret letting him go the second he leaves.
Saturday drags.
8:00 AM: eat breakfast in the dining hall, wish I was on my date with Noah
8:03 AM: sip coffee, wish I was on my date with Noah
8:07 AM: check the time, assuming it’s already past 10—groan in despair
8:10 AM: see Noah, blush like a schoolgirl
8:11 AM: desperately wish I was on my date with Noah
The whole day is a weird fever dream. I think I eat lunch with the kids in the dining hall. I think we take them out for gelato in the afternoon. In reality, my brain is laser-focused on getting to the good part.
I lock myself in my room two hours before I’m supposed to meet Noah at the restaurant he picked. We agreed it’s better to go separately so we can avoid being spotted together. I’m not ready to answer any pesky questions from the kids or other chaperones.
I figure two hours is enough time to get ready and calm my nerves. If I had alcohol, I’d take a shot.
I almost back out of wearing the little red dress.
While I’m getting ready, I lay it down on my bed then proceed to ignore it as I curl my hair, apply my makeup, and decide on what shade of lipstick would best fit the occasion. Falling in Love with Your Enemy - Revlon shade 104.
When I can’t put off getting dressed any longer, I rifle through my closet, trying to find an option that’s a little less bold. I have the black dress I wore on the double date, but it feels wrong to wear it again tonight. I’ve got plenty of sundresses, but none of them are fancy enough. Shorts, t-shirts—no, absolutely not.
When it comes down to it, I really have no choice.
It’s the little red dress or nothing.
I slip it on and do the school dress code test with my fingers. Yikes. I’d definitely be sent home.
I don’t have a full-length mirror in my room, which is for the best. I think if I could see myself, I’d chicken out. When I check my phone and realize I’m a few minutes late, there’s no more time to second-guess myself. I grab a sweater to throw on—just in case I happen to pass a student on my way out—and then I run out the door.
Chapter Twenty
Noah’s sitting at a little table against a wall at the restaurant. He wipes his hands on his jeans then adjusts the collar of his shirt. Peers furtively over his shoulder then takes a long swig of his water.
I realize I’ve never seen him nervous before. Not like this.
The restaurant is tiny and everything is clustered together—the tables and the people. Waiters weave between chairs carrying trays laden with food. Amidst the hustle and bustle, Noah doesn’t spot me until I’m there, standing beside the table.
He pushes himself up to stand immediately, coming around to help me with my chair.
“I was scared for a second you wouldn’t show.”
“I was scared for a second I’d arrive to an empty table.”
I slip my sweater off my shoulders, no longer in need of it since the restaurant is warm enough. It’s a travesty that Noah is standing behind me because I don’t get the pleasure of seeing his face the first moment he sees me in the dress. I do catch his sharp intake of breath though and stifle a smirk. Definitely worth the thirty-five euros.
I sit down and he pushes my chair in for me.
“What do you have there?” he asks, pointing to the manila envelope I’ve brought with me.
“Oh. A bit of pre-dinner paperwork.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
A waiter appears at Noah’s side after he takes his seat.
“Wine for the table?” he asks.
“We’ll each have a glass of the house red, please,” Noah answers for me.
When the waiter walks away, I lean forward. “How do you know I don’t want white?”
He rolls his eyes. “Because I know. Now are you going to get on with that or not?” He squints, reading the front of the envelope I’m still holding. “Did you really title it ‘Legal Document’?”
“Shut up. Yes.” I tug the single page out of the envelope and flatten it out on the table. “Are you ready?”
“I doubt I’ll ever be. Just read it.”
I clear my throat and lower my voice, changing my demeanor to play the role of Consummate Professional. Something I have never been and will never be.
“Ahem. The undersigned Audrey Cohen hereby attests to having total and complete knowledge—”
“Total and complete is redundant.”
I glare at him until silence is restored. “I will have order in this courtroom.”
He pinches his eyes closed, probably already regretting asking me out on this date. I continue anyway.
“…total and complete knowledge of the attempted prank(s) to be perpetrated by Noah Peterson, hereafter referred to as Dumb-Dumb #1 (DD1).
“DD1 has in no way accomplished his predetermined goals, listed below:
1) Tricking her into thinking he is genuinely interested in her
2) Fooling around with her
3) Making her fall in love with him and then publicly breaking her heart
It is heretofore acknowledged on this day, July 17th, at eight o’clock.”
I look up and Noah is grinning. He’s loving this.
“I tried to get a notary, but it was too short of notice. Do you want to review it before you sign? You can take as much time as you need.”
“You’re something else, you know that? Just hand me a pen.”
I pass him one from my little clutch. It was the most official-looking writing utensil I could find.
“Sign here.”
He doesn’t even hesitate.
“And here,” I say, pointing. “Here. Again here. And initials only here.”
When he’s done, he drops the pen and leans back in his chair, trying to look unamused. I take the document and blow on the ink to ensure it’s all dried before slipping it back into the manila envelope and sealing it up.
The waiter returns with our wine and Noah and I clink our glasses, holding eye contact while we do it.
“I’m not going to break your heart,” he says, sounding absolutely sure. “This isn’t some huge premeditated scheme I’ve had in the works for years.”
“My friends still think it is.”
“Your friends. Right, I suppose it’ll be tough to win them over at first.”
I nod. “They’re very loyal. I doubt they’ll ever like you.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“My parents too. I mean, I think my mom has a little crush on you since you talked to her on the phone, but my dad’s only heard horror stories.”
He’s undeterred. “I’m great with parents. Parents love me.”
“Are we insane for trying this?” I ask him.
“I don’t see another way forward. I can’t get you out of my head. The girl who calls me a dumb-dumb is apparently the one for me.” He shakes his head in disbelief as the waiter comes back with a basket of bread. I immediately attack it.