Maybe I could hide in the shoe store again?

I like Cheesecake Factory but I'm not actually as fond of it as I just pretended. And that had backfired spectacularly, because now I was traipsing across the parking lot with Pasco-freaking-DelForte who I had been trying to avoid with my dumb-show about cheesecake!

"Careful," said Del as we reached the stairs leading from the upper parking lot to the lower one next to the restaurant. Who puts stairs in the middle of six acres of parking? How much is an acre, anyway?

There were no guide rails on the stairs, more insanity. They weren't that steep, but still.

Del reached for my hand, asking, "Are you wearing heels?"

"No," I said but I let him take my hand anyway. His felt rough and hard, not like my hand at all. He had huge hands, in fact—the better to play basketball, I supposed.

We went down the steps holding hands. I couldn't work out why I was letting him hold my hand. I felt giddy and severely tempted by giggles.

"You have a nice smile," he commented.

I opened my mouth and closed it again.

Somehow we reached the restaurant, still holding hands. The place was filling fast but we beat the crowd and were taken to our table quickly. Del held the chair for me, and I sat down, nervously looking from side to side to see if anyone looked scandalized at our behavior.

An older couple smiled at me, both of them. What were they thinking? Heck, I'm such a poor telepath, I didn't even know what I was thinking. At least we weren't holding hands anymore.

The menu seemed to be printed in Old High Church Slavonian, but the pictures were nice. I kept looking up from the menu and seeing Del. He had a long lean face, dark hair in a plain cut that suited him, and warm brown eyes with flecks of green and gold in them.

Which is when I realized we had been sitting there staring at each other. I looked down at the menu quickly. What did he think he was seeing when he looked at me with his sad eyes and a smile so near his mouth? Did I look as much like a goof as I was feeling?

The waitress stopped at our table. "Something to drink?" she inquired. I pointed at the picture of the raspberry iced tea. Del ordered something brown and fizzy. The waitress went away.

The noise in the room increased as an early lunch crowd filtered in. The sound became a wall around our table. I kept trying to read the menu but found myself studying Del's face while he studied mine. What is happening, I wondered? What is happening to me, to us?

The waitress returned with our drinks. "Have you decided?" she asked. Decided what? That we're on a date? That no one has ever looked at me the way Del is? That I've never seen anyone who fascinates me like he does?

Del ordered something, a burger with ham and an egg on it. Huh? I wrinkled my nose at him and he laughed. The waitress asked again what I wanted and I pointed to a picture.

"The California burger?" she asked and I confirmed by nodding. "Do you want fries?"

I shook my head.

"She can have some of mine," Del offered.

I smiled.

After she walked away, he commented, "Calling it California means it has avocado on it."

I nodded.

"Do you like avocado?"

I shrugged.

He laughed softly. "I wonder what they call it in California?"

I thought about that but couldn't think of anything to say on the subject.

"Maybe they have something they call a Long Island burger?" he suggested. "What would that have on it?"

"Not avocado?" I ventured after a moment. "Maybe grape leaves and coney sauce?"

He laughed and I liked the way he laughed. "So you can talk again?" he observed.

I bit my lip and opened my eyes wide.

He shook his head and laughed some more. "Why grape leaves?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"Why grape leaves on the Long Island burgers in California?"

"I don't know. Maybe they think we have a lot of Greek hamburger stands?"

He had trouble replying to that and I got the giggles, too.

"That makes no sense!" he finally managed. "They don't put grape leaves on hamburgers in Greek burger places!"

"Well, not here," I said. "But maybe they do in California?"

"And that—that makes it a Long Island burger?"

"Sure!" I nodded, feeling my braids move on my back. I put a hand up to pull them in front and arrange them better.

He watched me, smiling. "The coney sauce makes sense."

"That would probably be good," I agreed.

"They put coney sauce on spaghetti noodles in Detroit. They call it a Michigan," he noted.

I shook my head, making my braids move again. "That's their own state. They're doing it wrong." We both laughed and when we stopped, I felt my face burning.

Del reached across the table and caught my hand with his, right beside the raspberry tea. I stared at him and he looked back, his steady brown eyes smiling this time, though his eyebrows still made him look sad.

I took a deep breath to say something but I don't know what because our food came just then. The waitress brought our burgers each on their own plate and a whole platter of french fries which she set between us. We moved our hands to make room, and she smiled at us both and winked at me.

My face burned again but I stuck the tip of my tongue out while I stole a fry off the platter. Then I moved my braids back behind me to keep food off them.

I took the top off my burger to look at the avocado slices. "No grape leaves," I said, trying to sound disappointed.

"You just can't get a good Long Island burger around here anymore," Del said mournfully, like it was a real tragedy. He did it so well, I got the giggles again. "You have to go to California," he added, finishing me off.

"Or, or, or Michigan!" I sputtered.

We ate burgers and fries and talked about more silly stuff. And laughed. A lot.

I was having a really good time with the boy who once pulled my hair and caused me to sock him in the crotch when my phone started ringing. Del's phone rang at almost the same time. "Probably the parental units," he said.

"The who?" I said, distracted while I remembered that my phone was probably in my purse. "Why do you call them that?"

"It's from an old TV show, my Dad quotes it all the time," Del explained. Then he simply pulled his phone from his shirt pocket and answered it.

Me, I first had to retrieve my purse hanging from my chair back, and then the strap got tangled with my braids so that the phone had quit ringing by the time I had it in my hand. Caller ID said, "Mom" but I had figured that already. My own personal parental unit.

It rang again while I still had it in my hand. I pushed the button to answer it. "Gah!" I said.

"Having fun?" Mom asked. "Ready for some more shopping?"

"I guess," I admitted. "I think I'm going to need some high heel shoes," I suggested, looking at Del. "He's like a foot taller than me."

Mom just laughed. Had I said that out loud? No fair, she caught me by surprise.