Felix looked down at his hand for a moment, making a fist and flexing it. “What’s the world coming to, when a fifteen-year-old is more courageous than a forty-five-year-old?”
I smiled. “Forty-seven,” I reminded him.
That made Felix laugh. He reached out to take my hand once more. “Come get something for dinner in the café before you go.”
I grabbed my gift and followed, still holding his hand as we went through the gift shop and to the bar in the back. Felix told me to wait as he went into the small kitchen area off to the side, then returned a moment later with another paper bag.
I grinned and accepted it. “What’d I get this time?”
“Apple and swiss grilled cheese and a few apple tarts.”
“Did you make them?” I asked.
“No.”
The girl who’d been manning the cash register, silently watching us the entire time, finally piped up. “It’s Mr. Hansen’s recipes!”
“Then I’m sure it’s going to be delicious.” I put a hand on Felix’s hip and stood on my toes to give him a kiss. “Thank you.”
The cashier gasped andawwed.
“You’re welcome,” Felix murmured.
“I’ll give you a call in the next day or so. Maybe we can do dinner some night?”
“I’d like that,” Felix answered.
“Great. I’ll see you.”
“Bye, Bo.”
I turned and walked toward the front door, listening to the cashier lose her cool and start shouting at Felix about us and the kiss and she couldn’t believe it and was so happy….
And you know, so was I.
“SO YOUadvise the yearbook too?” Alan asked as we walked down the hall together toward the auditorium after school on Tuesday, the start of our mandatory rehearsals for the holiday concert.
“Yeah, sort of got strong-armed into that one,” I answered.
“Is it any fun?”
“It’s pretty cool,” I said. “I’m learning a lot. And Mr. Kelly is great to work with.”
“I took accounting freshman year,” Alan said. “Mr. Kelly is awesome.” He looked up at me. “I met my new math tutor last night.”
“Oh?”
Alan smiled. “She’s nice. She works as a part-time tax advisor—that’s how Dad knows her. When she’s not crazy-busy during tax season, she does private tutoring.”
“Think it’ll work out?”
“Yeah, Dad already paid her to start helping me. I can officially join your composition class tomorrow!”
I patted Alan on the back. “Excellent. I’m really looking forward to having you.” I stopped walking and turned to him. “And I expect you to be a part of the class all year, so promise me you’ll do your best with the tutor.”
“I will,” Alan agreed. “Believe me, I don’t want to repeat algebra.”
“Can’t blame you.” I inclined my head at the auditorium doors, and Alan followed me inside. “I failed a class in high school.”
