“And did you feel like, ‘This is it!?’ Did music swell and fireworks explode and did you think to yourself,’This is what a kiss is supposed to feel like?'”
“It was like ice cream.”
“I worked at DQ. Trust me, it’s not like ice cream.”
“No, I mean it’s like all my life I’ve been eating frozen yogurt. And kissing boys is ice cream.”
Alek stared at the menu suspiciously. He smelled marinara sauce and a trap.
“Welcome to Trattoria dell’Arte. My name is Lizzy. Can I start you off with something to drink?” The waitress was young, maybe a college student already home for the summer, with a kind, round face framed by bangs that curled up at the bottom. Alek pitied her. She had no idea what she was in for.