I look up and see, to my astonishment, that Cute Textbook Boy is sitting across the waiting area from me. He’s wearing a gray T-shirt and dark jeans, and his hair is sort of messed up, but in a way that makes him look even hotter than he did at the restaurant. I gape at him. Actually, I almost fall off my chair. I think I gurgle some kind of response that doesn’t consist of actual words.

“You okay?” he asks after a moment.

“Um, yeah,” I say, collecting myself. I straighten up in my chair, push my glasses up and pull my cap down. I blink at him a few times. I can’t believe he’s here. Or that he recognized me. Well, not me, exactly. But the Amanda version of me. The new me.

He leans forward and smiles. Sheesh, those dimples. Those perfect teeth. That olive skin. I can’t deal.

“I recognized your Dodgers hat,” he says. “Not many Dodgers fans around here.”

I can’t get my tongue to cooperate and say anything.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I just got here to pick my truck up, and they told me five more minutes. I can go wait over there if you want,” Cute Textbook Boy says after a minute, looking at me uncertainly.

“No,” I say quickly. “I mean, that’s fine. Stay here. I was just, um, thinking.”

“About what?” Cute Textbook Boy asks. He studies my face, and I fight the urge to gaze dreamily back into his eyes. I look quickly away. After all, I can’t have people looking too closely at me, right? Especially when their looking at me makes my heart race.

“Just money,” I blurt out. “I mean, after I pay for this tire, I have, like, no money left.”

I feel like crying. And I realize I probably sound like a total idiot, blurting out personal information like that. Something is happening to my brain.

“Do you have a job?” he asks. “To earn money for the tire, I mean?”

“No.”

He looks like he’s about to say something, but just then, the mechanic behind the desk barks out, “Green Jeep Cherokee?” and looks in our direction. Cute Textbook Boy stands up.

“That’s me.” He shrugs. “Look, you should apply at D’Angelo’s,” he says. “They’re hiring.”

“The restaurant?” I ask stupidly, my mind spinning. Me? Work at a restaurant? I can’t even imagine. But it would be a job. And maybe I’d get to see Cute Textbook Boy more often. Now, that would be worth thinking about.

“Yeah,” he says. “You know, menus, pasta, customers . . .”

“Got it,” I say, laughing. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” he says. He looks at me for another moment. “Anyhow, um, see you around.”

He’s gone before I realize that I didn’t even get his name.