Leti
When next Saturday rolls around, I’m anxious the whole day until it’s time to start getting ready.
It’s a no-brainer to wear the blue dress that nearly made him choke, given that he’s already expressed how much he loves it.
I inspect my outfit in a full-length mirror, turning every which way to get a glimpse of myself from all angles.
The dress is cinched at the waist and stops a few inches above my knees, and the color makes my tan skin glow.
My black hair is tied in a loose French braid that falls over one shoulder, a few short tendrils loose to frame my face.
As I’m finishing my makeup, it hits me that this is the first time I’ve gone out with someone since college.
I’ve gone four whole years without romantic prospects of any kind, with one very brief online exception.
I knew better than to get my hopes up after sliding into a TikTok influencer’s DMs, even if she did live in town.
But I thought we’d had a connection, at least until it turned out Angela Gutierrez had a stronger one with someone else.
If that experience taught me anything, it’s that strictly message-based communication is not for me.
I’m a grown adult, dammit, and I am going to date.
Perhaps I’ll have better luck with Julian Gutierrez, despite them having the same last name.
Maybe that’s why he looked so familiar to me.
He and the woman I almost dated could be related. I’ll have to ask him about it tonight.
He doesn’t show until eight, not that I’ve been constantly checking the time or anything.
I recognize him immediately as he heads to the building from the parking lot.
I wish I could say I’m too annoyed to notice how good he looks, but that would be a lie.
There’s a light flush on his cheeks as he pushes the brown curls from his eyes and crosses the lot in a rush.
He’s dressed casually in jeans and a button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
When he smiles, he’s the spitting image of his profile picture—lines crinkled at the corners, deep dimples burrowing both cheeks.
“Leticia.” I don’t hear the sound of his voice over the chatter of people, but I watch his lips as they mouth my name.
Normally I’d be weirded out by someone calling me by my full name, but a strange sort of heat warms my stomach instead.
I’ve so rarely experienced sexual attraction before, and it couldn’t have come at a more inconvenient time.
I should be angry he left me waiting—a second time, at that.
Not thirsting for him after watching his full lips move around the shape of my name.
Besides, there’s a note in my dating profile to call me Leti.
I should be annoyed he’s decided to ignore it.
With those final butterflies stamped down, I wave a hand in greeting when he’s standing in front of me.
That strike of familiarity intensifies as he wraps an arm around my shoulders in a side hug, and a strange sense of déjà vu washes over me.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. I feel terrible for keeping you waiting.
I got caught up getting my classroom ready, and then there was an accident on the way over. ”
“It’s Leti, actually. And no problem.” I shrug, hiding my annoyance—for now.
Even in the shade, I’m sweating bullets.
The back of my dress is sticking to my skin, and I make a concerted effort to keep my arms down in case I have pit stains.
“But we should probably check in soon. It’s starting to get crowded.
” We’ll be lucky to get a table within a thirty-minute time frame.
I could’ve checked in earlier before the dinner crowd showed up, but I would’ve felt bad taking up a table for twenty minutes waiting for Julian to arrive.
“Forty minutes?” I nearly shout after checking in with the hostess, managing at the last moment to keep my voice even. There’s no way we’re making the movie after this.
“We could go somewhere else…” Julian suggests, looking unsure. “But other places might be just as bad. Leti, I’m so sorry—”
“It’s fine.” I nod at the hostess, who says she’ll call my name when a table becomes available. With that, we head back outside to wait. “Your classroom better look like the freaking Sistine Chapel.”
I’m not sure how I expect Julian to react to my crabby comment, but the laugh that bursts out of him surprises me.
“That may be expecting a lot from my tiny portable, but it’s coming together,” he says, smiling brightly. “I couldn’t resist coming in on a weekend. I’m stoked for my first year.”
“You’ve got that new teacher excitement on your face,” I tell him, trying and failing not to be charmed by this man.
“I hope you don’t lose that. I’ve seen burnout happen to too many first-years.
” I let out a tired sigh. “We had two teachers quit three months into the school year last fall. I’ve been filling in for them so much, I forgot what the inside of the library looks like. ”
“I had a blast student teaching in the spring. And it took an extra two years to complete my degree while working at the same time, so if it doesn’t pan out, it would seem like a waste,” he says. “But I take it you’re not a fan of subbing?”
“It’s the worst. I’m nothing but a glorified babysitter, and these kids get more horrific every year. I can’t believe you willingly signed up for this.”
“I like working with kids.” He shrugs. “I can handle a little horrific. It’s part of the job. Isn’t it part of yours, too, as a school librarian?”
“In much smaller, more manageable doses, sure. But for the amount of subbing I’ve had to do, I’m overdue for a crash course in classroom management.”
“Yeah?” He leans in. “I can help with that. What’s giving you trouble?”
“You mean besides the constant talking over me, copious cases of plagiarism, and the spitball ceiling?”
“For the first, the trick is to stare them down until they stop talking. I learned that one from my mentor teacher. And we have software that catches most cases of plagiarism. As for the spitball ceiling, I’m at a loss.”
“Guess that means you can’t help with the drug situation either.”
“I’m sorry—what?” He rears back. “Please tell me you’re at a high school. Not that it’s much better than sixth graders doing drugs, but still.”
“It’s high school,” I say. “There’s this portable bathroom on campus that they go to smoke in, and it’s not nicotine in their vape pens.” I have to laugh because the truth is too depressing. I’ve written up at least three kids on a normal day of subbing. “What’s your solution to that?”
He’s off the hook from answering when the hostess calls my name.
We’re led to a table by the window and given menus as we take seats across from each other.
The cool air is a relief on my overheated skin.
Since we haven’t been given napkins yet, I resort to wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my arm.
Meanwhile, there isn’t a trace of sweat on Julian’s skin. Talk about unfair.
“You look great, by the way.”
“Is that some sort of joke?” I let out a sound that’s half scoff, half disbelieving laugh. “I look like a melting tomato.”
“I’m guessing you spent most of your summers indoors.”
“You’d guess correct.” I nod. “Not a fan of anything that requires being outdoors for more than, say, ten minutes. Unless I’m waiting for my date to arrive.”
“Ouch.” He slaps a hand to his chest like he’s been shot. “Please accept my humble apologies again.”
“You’re forgiven. This time.” I roll my eyes good-naturedly. “Next time I might not be so gracious.”
“All I heard is there’s going to be a next time.” He leans forward, eyes twinkling.
When he shows off his dimples in a crooked grin, my stomach flips. Get it together, I remind myself. What kind of self-respecting person would I be for letting him off the hook so easily?
“Don’t get too ahead of yourself.” My mouth quirks up nonetheless.
Maybe I can forgive the tardiness if he keeps up the banter.
The way he’s looking at me doesn’t hurt either.
But he still has a ways to go before climbing out of that hole.
When the waiter arrives, we put in our orders and continue chatting.
“Do you have any siblings?” There are people who find small talk insufferable, and while I empathize with their plight, they fail to see it as the means to an end it is. The only way to get to the real stuff is to break past the surface first. To do that, you need to establish the basics.
“Nope.” He shakes his head. “You?”
“An older sister,” I say, because any mention of my younger brother even in an offhand way would inevitably bring up the hurt feelings that come with thinking about him for too long.
This is only a first date, after all. I’ll bring Andrew up another time if this goes anywhere.
“She’s the outgoing one between the two of us, always pushing me out of my comfort zone to try new things.
She used to force me out of the house more until she had her first kid.
” I pull out my phone to show him pictures of my adorable niece and nephew.
“First kid?” he asks, eyes widening slightly. He sounds a bit too surprised for my liking. “How old is she?”
“Twenty-nine.” We’re only three years apart. “She was twenty-three when she got married and twenty-four when she had her first kid.”
“Twenty-four? That’s my age, and I’ve never been anywhere close to marriage.” He shudders. “What is it with young people nowadays? Is there nothing better to do around here than end your life right before it starts?”
“That’s a little dramatic.” Immediately, I set down my phone. There’s no way I’m showing him cute pictures of Alicia and Mateo now. And there’s a good one of the two stuffed in a giant pumpkin we carved together last October. “Some people figure out what they want early in life.”
But not me.