Page 37 of What I Like About You

Nash raises his eyebrows. “United Synagogue Youth. It’s just a youth group for Jewish teens, basically—”

“Yeah, I got that part, obviously. I just didn’t know what the acronym stood for.”

Nash blinks, clearly taken aback by my abruptness. Ugh. Nash is talking to me, unprompted, when I’ve very actively beennot talking to himall week. I don’t want to encourage it—but I don’t have to be full-onrudeeither. Not here. Not on Shabbat. It’s the first time we’ve talked, just the two of us, since the first day of school.

“Thanks,” I say.

I can reset Operation Avoidance on Monday.

“You could’ve just asked Molly,” he says.

“And cut her off in the middle of her spiel? It seemed easier to nod,” I say.

Nash laughs. “Mood.”

I laugh too, and for the smallest moment, it feels like we’re behind our screens. Nash saysmoodall the time. But we’re not behind screens—we’re here. Together. IRL. And Nash justlaughedat something I, Halle, said.

I thought I liked making him lol. Butthis? His laugh is so much more than lol. The way his eyes crinkle in the corners andhe covers his mouth with his hand if he’s laughing too hard. His one dimple.

This is a million times better. And that’s definitely going to be a problem.

Nash peels off the liner of his double dark chocolate cupcake—mycupcake—and I wait for his reaction, my stomach in knots. I don’t know if I want him to like it or not. It feels like a neon sign over my head. Ollie returns to the table just in time to witness the bizarre reality that is Nash eating one my cupcakes.

“Oh my God,this is so good,” he says, his mouth still full of cupcake.

I exhale because I am not a hack—my cupcakesaregood. Online, no one gets to taste them.

Molly returns to the table with a red velvet of her own. “Are we talking about the cupcakes? We totally are, right? My God, who made these?”

Ollie is always the first to brag, so I nudge his toe gently before he can, reminding him of our secret—mysecret. Instead of the confession, we both shrug and affirm the amazingness.

The four of us talk and laugh and drink an entire bottle of grape juice. Temple Beth Shalom is a happy place and I feel okay, safe, which is weird because I’m only Halle tonight, a complete stranger to Nash. Okay, maybe a familiar acquaintance at this point.

At the end of the night, Molly offers another hug, but this one comes with an invitation.

“You should come bowling with us tomorrow!” Molly says.

If I say statements as questions, Molly does the opposite. She makes statements out of things that should be questions.

“It’s a Saturday night tradition,” she continues.

“Mostly because it’s when Molly is free again.” Nash teases.

“Hashtag Conservadox Problems.”

“You should come,” Nash says, smiling.

His invitation is soearnest—and it’s exactly why I can’t. I have to say no. Tonight was a one-off—spending just five minutes alone with him is already messing with my head. I can’t get too close.

“Rain check?” I ask. “We kind of already have dinner plans with Gramps tomorrow.”

Ollie’s eyebrows scream,No, we don’t!

My pinched lips scream,Shut up, Ollie!

“Oh! Fair enough. Next week, then,” Molly says. “Shabbat Shalom! See you Monday!”

“Night,” Nash says, following her out. I can’t read the expression on his face.

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