Page 15 of Spell Ya Later

Hazel: Let me know when and where, so long as it’s after five. I’ll meet you there.

Put the phone away, Hazel—you have a class to teach.

I wonder how obvious it is that I’m talking to a boy. A very cute boy.

Oh dear.

My cheeks almost burn my palms as I touch them. No one has ever made me blush like this.

I’m not liking the sneaky look that Selma and Ted are giving me.

You don’t know my life, cute old people.

Two hours isnotenough time to get ready for the first date you’ve ever had. Twenty-five years old is also way too old to be having your first date.

Thanks, Mom. Your societal repression is really working in my favor.

I wore my only ‘good’ outfit the first time I met Noah, so what the hell am I supposed to wear now?

I could potentially call Laura, but that’s a can of worms I’m unwilling to open. Not to mention the fact I barely got the wench out of my apartment this morning. Inviting her back would be dumb.

It would be very dumb.

Damn my lack of friends.

Wait a hot damn minute. What did I wear to Laura’s high school graduation? I frantically dig through the closet and—yes! A dress! It may not be the sexiest thing that ever existed, but it’s form-fitting and black.

It’s only through the magic of a curling iron and an unused dress that I look somewhat presentable.

This may not be an absolute disaster. No, this will probably be a disaster—but I’ll look decent during said disaster.

Passable. I’ll lookpassableduring said disaster.

Noah asked me to meet him at some Italian place I’ve never heard of before, which makes my palms sweat just a little as I clench the steering wheel of Grandma’s car. I don’t like going to new places as it is. I don’t know if it’s the lack of knowledge ofwhere I’m going or what, but I always end up getting there at least fifteen minutes early.

Hence my arrival at—gasp—anadorablelittle restaurant a grand total of twenty minutes before six o’clock.

I blame the extra five minutes on my first date nervousness.

I can do this. I breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

I haven’t told anyone about this date. Not Laura, not Grandma when I asked to borrow her car, and—well, there’s nobody else other than them.

I step out of the vehicle. Come on, Hazel. Get it together.

The restaurant, Georgio’s, is even cuter on the inside. It’s the epitome of a perfect date restaurant. The scent of garlic bread gently wafts through the air—mmm. The place has the air of the quaint Italian restaurants of New York City. The walls are beautiful red brick and the tables are draped in soft, cream-colored tablecloths and adorned with tea light candles. The space is open, the tables framing the giant brick oven in the back.

My mouth waters as I snap back to reality. I’m about to eat all the bread.

All. Of. The. Bread.

“Hazel?”

I turn to Noah, who is standing up from one of the more isolated tables.