Working was always my favorite part of the day, but now that Dres and I are whatever we are, it's even better. Things are essentially the same as far as shifts go—I man the counter and Dres holes himself in the kitchen while Dolores filters in and out. And after we've closed, I take my sweet, sweet time cleaning up knowing it'll summon Dres.

     Dres says nothing when he joins me. He's wiping down a table across from me when I decide to break the silence with: "Black raspberry frosting with a cinnamon cake."

     He looks up and is smiling as he shakes his head and says, "Absolutely not."

     "Halston is all for the apple cider cupcakes. Honestly, it's kind of the perfect fall cupcake. You could even put like a candy leaf on it or something."

     "I'll take that under advisement," Dres says. I mock him under my breath, mumbling "under advisement" and this makes him shoot me an unamused look.

     "So," he says and I perk up, only to be let down with his next line. "Do you have a lot of work to do when you get home?"

     I frown and don't say anything, feeling like the path we're on isn't going to benefit me at all. He glances up at me, expression pressing me for a response.

     "Why are you asking?"

     "Because if you have a lot of work to do you can head out," he answers simply.

     "I don't mind staying and finishing," I respond.

     "I know you don't mind. But your grades shouldn't suffer because of a part time job."

     I make an unpleasant sound and respond, "It was one test." Dres looks at me and I can hear my mom's voice in the back of head saying "It's always one test". I add, "If I ace the rest of my work for this class I'll have an A for the marking period."

     "You still haven't answered my question if you have a lot of work to do tonight."

     "I've got the usual amount of work," I tell him with a shrug of my shoulders. "Some math problems, readings for history and English, and a physics packet to finish."

     "That sounds like a lot to me," he says.

     "Yeah, but I have free periods during the day. And I don't really read for history, its more like a skim. I've done most of my physics packet. Seriously, it's like two hours of work max."

     Dres hesitates then says, "Alright, fine. Grab the mop?"

     Grinning, I say, "You got it, boss," before parading over to the utility to closet to grab the mop and broom.

     Dres goes after a beat, "You can pitch one flavor and I'll make it happen."

     I don't stop smiling for the rest of the night.

     The week moves so slow I half wonder if my excitement for my date with Dres is actually freezing time. It seems like the more anxious I get for Sunday, the longer each day feels. It shouldn't be a problem because I spend almost every day with Dres or texting him. And its good, it is so good (almost too good) talking to Dres like this. He is so unlike himself in text – funny and amazingly responsive. The texting is great. I am not complaining about the texting.

     But I need more and we haven't really had a moment where it's just us. And I haven't stopped thinking about the kiss since it happened. The more time that passes, the more details I lose. So the closer I get to my date with Dres the less of the kiss I remember and the more of the kissing I want. It is truly an upending situation.

     When the day finally gets here, I'm running on hardly any sleep since my nerves kept me up most of the night. I'm running around the house trying to get myself together while my mom looks at me as she makes coffee, her face telling me she's both amused and concerned.

     Dres is punctual but I've been pacing in my living room for the past hour so I'm ready when his truck pulls up outside. My mom walks out of the kitchen in her robe with a cup of steaming coffee in her hand. "Are you leaving?" she asks as I move for the door.

     "Yep," I say. "I'll see you later."

     "Ten o'clock," she reminds me.

     "Mom, come on," I respond hand on the door eagerly turning the lock between my fingers. "Ten is early."

     "You have school tomorrow," she says. "And it's nine in the morning. You don't need to spend the whole day out with Dresden." I don't say anything, staring at her with my best pleading puppy expression. "Ten thirty is the latest I'm giving you."

     "An extra half hour?" I exclaim. My mom gives me a face, and I add quickly, "I mean, an extra half hour! Wow, mom, so gracious." I press a hand to my chest, feigning gratitude. The doorbell rings and makes me jump. "I gotta' go. I'll see you later."

     "Wait, do you have everything?" she asks as I open the door.

     "Yesssss," I say too distracted sizing up Dres to hear my mom behind me. He's wearing shorts (Dres has legs everybody, good legs) and a white pullover hoodie made of some athletic material. Dres's legs are like the rest of him, muscular and tattooed. I try to figure out what the designs and patterns of ink are forming, but the angle is bad and gives me nothing.

      "You're staring," Dres says his tone ridden with amusement.

      I look up from his legs quickly and meet his cheeky gaze. "Yeah," I say with a shrug. "I do that sometimes." He gives me a look that says sometimes is a total understatement.

       I start to step through the doorway but my mom's voice halts me. "Good morning, Dresden," she says as she places her hand on my shoulder. I frown. Okay, sure, I've never actually been picked up for a date before and my mom has to now make the adjustment of having a son who dates, who is dating, dating someone older, and hot, and mature. So while I get her whole hovering thing, it doesn't mean I have to like it.

     Dres offers a warm smile, completely at ease, and responds, "Morning mam."

     "Kay, bye mom," I say quickly shrugging her off so i can reach for the door to close it behind me. My mom body blocks it.

     "You have your water bottle?" she asks.

     I grit my teeth, and respond in my calmest tone, "Yes mom." Does she have a personal vendetta to always embarrass me in front of Dres?

     She presses, "And your sunscreen?"

     Dres gives me a look as if he's reinforcing her question. I roll my eyes. "Yes yes yes," I answer manuevering around Dres to lead the way down to his truck. Dres follows but not before he says a respectful goodbye to my mom.

     "Calvin, I'm serious. Make sure you wear it. You know how you burn," she calls after me.

     "Obviously," i call back to her as I pull teh passenger door open. "Oh my god, she's a psychopath," I mutter under my breath, throwing my bag on the floor.

     Dres stops getting into the car to look at me, kind of shocked as if I just said I was going to kill someone. "Don't be mean to your mom."

     I jut my chin at him, making a sound that's supposed to be incredulous. "You're mean to yours." I climb into the seat and pull the door closed. My mom is still staring from the doorway. Psychopath. True psychopath behavior. I make a shooing motion to her, hoping Dres doesn't notice.

     He pauses, starts the car, and says, abruptly, "I'm not mean to Dolores."

     "You call her Dolores. That's kind of mean." I buckle my seatbelt, and do a quick survey of my surroundings. There's a new Yankee Candle air freshener hanging from the mirror that definitely wasn't there last time. It smells like pine needles.

     "That's...complicated," he says as he pulls away from the curb. I don't press because I know he doesn't want me to. I wonder what happened, because he and Dolores seem to get along fine but maybe that wasn't always the case.

     It makes me think about my dad, which is something I don't do, on principle. I don't think about where he is, or what his life is like now. If he tells people he has a son, or doesn't mention me or my mom at all.

     "Those boots are brand new," Dres says.

     I've pulled my foot onto the seat to tighten the laces, something that's more compulsory than necessary. I shrug off the weirdness, push the thoughts of my father to a far corner of my mind. I'm not going there. I want nothing but good memories of today.

     "Yeah," I answer glancing at Dres. He drives with just his left hand. Maybe he's a lefty and I didn't notice. "I told my mom it's an investment in my new hobby."

     He laughs. It's a sound I'm still not used to, and I bite back a grin, not really sure why Dres's laugh makes me perversely happy.

     "What?" I say haughtily. "Hiking could be my new hobby."

     He glances at me, and licks his bottom lip. It's a thoughtful gesture like he's weighing his words, but it really just makes me want to pull at it with my teeth.

     "It could be," he muses. "But I don't think it will be."

     I cross my arms. "Why? I like being outdoors." Sort of, anyway. I don't really mind the outdoors, when the weather's nice enough, and there aren't many bugs around – a nice barbecue in a well-maintained backyard.

     "You get dirty when you hike. And you're kind of clumsy – no, don't look at me like that. I'm not saying it in a bad way. It's...you're clumsy. And even if you don't fall or something you still end up dirty because hiking is messy like that."

     "I don't mind getting dirty." He makes a sound, disagreeing with me. "I don't."

     "You're a little obsessive when it comes to cleanliness."

     "I have just the right amount of obsession with cleanliness, thank you."

     "It takes you over an hour to clean the front room every night. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the dedication. The place is very clean when you get done with it. It even beats my standards of clean. But, an hour, Cas."

     "You think that's why it always takes me so long?"

     Dres glances at me again, one eyebrow perched on his forehead questioningly. "It's not?"

     I sputter, not about to admit to him the real reason I drag out the cleaning process. "I mean, I'm just being diligent. You can never be too clean when you're selling food."

     He shrugs his shoulders in concession. "Okay, maybe you'll like hiking. I don't know."

     I say quickly, "No, I will probably hate hiking because bugs freak me out."

     Dres shoots me an incredulous look. "What? What was the point in this whole conversation if you agree with me?"

     "I enjoy disagreeing with you," I say with a grin and settle back into my seat. Dres hums a sort of annoyed sound, and it makes me grin harder. I reach for the volume dial on the radio, saying, "What're we listening to here? I can't do this whole ride with Bobby Darin and the likes of him."

     "I'm surprised you know this is Bobby Darin."

     "You play at least two of his songs a shift. That and Elvis. Like we gotta lay Elvis to rest."

     Grinning he says, "He's a classic." Then he adds, "If you really listened to this music I think you'd like it."

     "Hiking has a better shot than this music – like what is this? There aren't any lyrics. It's just a – what even is this instrument?"

     Dres shakes his head. "It's a guitar." He reaches into the cup holder and pulls the USB cord out of his phone, holding it between us. "You can play music."

     I take it from him hesitantly, saying, "I feel like you're going to really judge my music tastes."

     "Well, it'd only be fair since you judge mine," he retorts and then goes, "Put on your favorite song."

     I raise both of my eyebrows as I scroll through my music. "My favorite?" I say with a sort of whine at the end, because that's a difficult request. "I have a new favorite like every week."

     "Alright, your most played song then." 

     I wonder what my most played song is, and what it says about me. I open the playlist, and at the top is Ra Ra Riot's Can You Tell. I remember sophomore year playing this song on repeat as I fell asleep every night, so I get why it's my most played.

      Dres reaches out and turns the volume up, his expression thoughtful like he's focused on the lyrics. I focus on them too, and become all too aware of how applicable they are to my life. We remain silent for the whole song and by the time it ends I'm short on words, have absolutely no clue what to say.

     So it happens that we sit through a few more songs – Sleeping At Last's Heirloom and Reach You by Michael Bernard Fitzgerald are some of my favorites that play. I stare out the window because it's safer than looking at Dres. I'm afraid if I stare at him for too long I'll break the spell.