Thank God for Miss Annemarie, who chose that moment to waddle over to the table, a plastic bag in hand. “Here you go, sweetie,” she told David, handing him the soup. “Try to be more careful with this batch. I’m closing up now, so this is your last chance.”

“Oh, r-right,” David said, fumbling slightly with the bag. “Thanks, Miss Annemarie.”

Our tea was gone, so we both got to our feet, thanking Miss Annemarie again. “Don’t mention it,” she said with a wave of her hand. “It’s nice to have young people in here at night for once. Most of the other kids, they all go somewhere fancy on their dates. Like Ruby Tuesday.”

I waited for David to insist we weren’t on a date, but he gave Miss Annemarie a little smile and a nod. I didn’t say anything either, and as weird as it seems, it was like by letting Miss Annemarie think it was a date, it had somehow . . . become a date.

I shook my head again. Crazy thought. Stupid.

After the warmth of Miss Annemarie’s, the square seemed even colder. I shivered a little as the breeze made my still-damp sweater cling to my body.

“Here,” David said, handing me the takeout bag. “Hold this.”

I did, and he slipped out of his tweed, revealing an actually halfway-decent button-down dress shirt underneath. He slid the coat over my shoulders before taking the bag back.

“Thanks,” I said, a little awkwardly. I never thought I would be grateful for the scent of crab bisque, but as I pulled the coat tighter around me, I was glad that was all I could smell. I felt weird enough as it was without adding nice boy smell to the mix.

David and I walked down the sidewalk, our arms a few inches apart.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” he asked as we passed the antique store.

“I should probably get back to the theater,” I said. “Ryan . . .”

I let that trail off, and David shoved his free hand in his pocket. “Right. Ryan.”

We had reached David’s car by now, but both of us were sort of hovering beside it. “So,” he said.

“So.”

David rocked on his heels, frowning slightly. “Is it me, or are we being weird?”

I laughed, nerves making it sound high and thin. “We are being weird. Which is saying something for us.”

Grinning, David let his shoulders drop a little. “Okay, good. It’s only . . . I should’ve said something to Miss Annemarie about us not being on a date, but—”

“No,” I rushed in to say, slipping my arms into his jacket. “That would’ve been awkward, too, and probably bad manners to correct her.”

“Right!” he said, a little too loud. “It would’ve made her feel bad, and we don’t want to do that. Not when she’s made me delicious soup. Twice.”