The Exception to the Rule

by Christina Lauren

“Dinner.” He cutely mimes spooning food into his mouth. “Sun goes down. People eat.” “Like a date?” “I hope so? I intend to flirt.”

C . . . my hands are shaking right now. I am freaking the hell out. I live in Philly, too. And I think you know that. He replies with a phone number. And when I enter it into a text box, an existing contact pops up on-screen. The Hot TA.

It’s my conundrum wrapped in a mystery tied with a puzzle shoved in a pickle jar.

walks around the hood and sees me at the same time I see the cupcake box in his hand.

Forget flowers; give me a cupcake and it’s a perfect date. After all this time, he remembered?

imagined with everything I know, I am overcome with the urge to cry. This is the person behind the computer for the last ten years.

“Too soon?” he asks, breath minty, his lips only an inch from mine. “I don’t normally kiss before the first date,” I tell him. “But you’re the exception to the rule.”

Are we still going to be emailing each other from the same couch on Valentine’s Day in fifty years?