“All true. Did I tell you that there’s this famous donut place out in Portland called Voodoo that makes a maple syrup donut topped with bacon?”
“That sounds disgusting.”
“Don’t knock it until you try it.”
“Fair enough.” I arch my shoulders. “In addition to flowers and bacon-flavored donuts, I’ve peeked at your kindle so I know that you like books and Harry Potter in particular. Even though I’ve never read the books or seen any of the movies, I think—”
Aimee interrupts me. “You’re kidding me, right? You, of all people, haven’t seen the Harry Potter movies?”
I shake my head, enjoying the look on her face. “I know the basic plot and it didn’t really seem like my thing.”
“Didn’t seem like your thing? It’s Harry Potter! Did you grow up under a rock or something?”
I chuckle. “Turnaround is fair play so maybe we can watch them sometime.”
“Well, I think you should read the books first, but that’s just my humble opinion. Though I should warn you about something.” She places her elbows on the table and that pink bra strap winks at me. I can feel blood drumming in my ears, sliding down through my body. Maybe this date isn’t fucked after all. “I have this theory that the world is broken up into two kinds of people.”
“Yeah?”
“Yep. On the one side are the people who love the Harry Potter books and wish that they could attend Hogwarts and have Ron and Hermione for best friends and vanquish Death Eaters and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”
She’s smiling at me, and she’s just so fucking cute. I have to ask: “And the other side?”
Aimee shrugs. “Douchebags.”
I pretend to be shocked. Then I toss her own words back at her with a smirk. “I don’t think you can say the word ‘douchebag’ in here. I’m not sure if you noticed this or not, but the waiter over there is wearing a tux.”
“Oh really?” She scrunches up her nose and I get the sudden, nearly irresistible urge to reach across the table and yank her onto my lap.
“Yes, really.” I take a deep breath and pick up the crystal water glass in front of me. “So, what the hell is a Death Eater?”
Aimee’s eyebrows pull inward. “A supporter of Lord Voldemort. Basically, that means someone who is intent upon purifying the wizarding world of all muggles.”
“What’s a mu—You know what? Never mind.” I circle the rim of my water glass with my thumb. “So far, we’ve established that you’re a fan of donuts, flowers, corndogs, Harry Potter. And I know that you’re into artsy—fartsy music…
“Hey! I listen to good music,” she defends.
I smile so that she knows that I’m teasing her. Even though I’ve never heard of most of the obscure indie bands that Aimee plays, I’ve reluctantly accepted that they aren’t terrible. “Okaaaay… You listen to good music and enjoy singing along in the shower.”
Aimee frowns warily. “How in the world do you know that I sing in the shower?”
My chest rumbles in amusement. “I didn’t. It was just a random guess, but thanks so much for confirming it.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks flush pink.
“What else?”
She thinks. “Scrabble.”
“You like playing Scrabble?” I mentally record the information for a later date.
“I do.”
“Okay. Scrabble, donuts, flowers, corndogs, pre-pubescent British wizards, and indie music. Am I missing anything important?”
She’s still blushing and it’s like the heat in her face is trapping all the words inside of her. “What is it?” I ask, an involuntary grin tugging on my mouth. I love it when she blushes like this.
Aimee sighs, looks up toward the chandelier. “You, Cole. I like you.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. I think my mouth actually drops open.
I’m fucking sunk.
Aimee
Cole’s gaze is locked onto mine and his jaw is hanging loose. I think what he’s doing is commonly called gaping.
It’s obvious that he can’t believe my bluntness. Well, I guess he can join the club because I can’t believe it either.
“I’m sorry. That was insanely cheesy,” I say, trying to cover my red face with my hands.
Right now would be the perfect time to slink out of my seat to the floor so that I can hide my embarrassment under the corners of the stiff white tablecloth. Saliva builds on the roof of my mouth and I swallow it down. God. Cole’s eyes are so raw with emotion that I’m starting to feel lightheaded. I trace the woven sections of my braid with two of my fingers. “So… do you want to, um, get dessert or something?” I ask haltingly.