“Yes, with all that long, curly hair.”
I smile. For years, I’ve felt insecure about my hair—that it’s too red, too long, too curly. But now I’m starting to think for the first time that it might not be “too” anything at all.
“I’m kind of glad you don’t have the scaly tail, though,” Noah says, squeezing my hand.
Oh yes—did I mention he’s still holding my hand?
The fluttering feeling returns to the pit of my stomach, as if it’s full of fairies all flapping their wings in excitement. “Yes, I’m glad about that too,” I say softly.
“Come here—I want to show you something.” Noah leads me along the painted seabed, past the picture of a treasure chest overflowing with gold and an old anchor with the name Titanic carved on it. “See that starfish?” Noah points to a bright turquoise starfish with a smiley face.
“Yes.”
“I painted that.”
“What? Really? Did you do all of this?” I stare at him in amazement.
He shakes his head. “No, my dad did. But he let me paint the starfish. I was only about ten at the time.”
“That must have been so cool.”
“It was. He didn’t let me see any of it in the ultraviolet light till he’d finished the whole thing. You know how I brought you down here in the dark?”
I nod.
“That was exactly what he did to me. I’ll never forget it.” Noah is smiling, but somehow he also looks sad.
“I bet. Well, I’ll never forget it either,” I say.
He stares at me for a moment and I feel as if he’s about to tell me something, but then he lets go of my hand. “Come on, let’s go get some lunch.”
I follow him along the magical seabed wondering what just happened. At the very end of the corridor there’s a picture of an octopus—its tentacles glowing in every color of the rainbow. As we get closer, I can hear the muffled sound of voices and the clinking of cutlery.
Noah turns to me and grins. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
He reaches out for what looks like the octopus’s nose protruding from its face and turns it. A hidden door swings open. The octopus’s nose turns out to be the handle.
Noah beckons me to follow him. By this point I’m not sure what to expect. I feel just like Alice in Wonderland when she fell down the rabbit hole. It wouldn’t have surprised me at all to see a mad hatter’s tea party on the other side of the door.
“Oh wow!” As I follow Noah into the café, my eyes widen to take it all in. The room is dark and full of mismatching retro chairs, clustered around chunky wooden tables. Candles flicker at the center of each table, wax spilling down the sides of their wine-bottle holders. Apart from a few lamps dotted about the place, this is the only light. The walls are painted deep red and full of framed photos and paintings. It doesn’t just look amazing, it smells amazing too—a rich mixture of tomatoes and herbs and freshly baked bread.
“Do you like pasta?” Noah asks.
I nod, too busy drinking in the surroundings to say anything.
“Cool. They do the best pasta here—the chef’s Italian. He’s the real deal. Let’s grab this table.” Noah leads me over to a table tucked into an alcove. We sit down on a squishy leather sofa, smiling at one another.
“Happy Magical Mystery Day,” Noah says.
“This has been the best Magical Mystery Day ever,” I say.
“Well, it’s not over yet.” Noah grabs the small menu card from the table and moves nearer so that we can both look at it. Once again, I’m conscious of how close we are and I’m so distracted by this fact that all the lettering on the menu blurs into one.
“The lasagna here is incredible,” Noah says.
I look up at him and the thought bubble above my head becomes filled with the words “KISS ME.” For a split second, as he looks into my eyes and moves his head the tiniest bit closer to mine, I wonder if he’s thinking exactly the same thing. But then a guy comes bounding over to our table and the moment is lost.
“Noah, my man!” the guy says. He’s tall and thin and wearing low-slung jeans and a skater T-shirt. “Long time, no see. How you been?”
“Oh, you know—busy,” Noah replies.
The guy smiles. “I bet.”
“Penny, this is Antonio. Antonio, Penny—she’s come all the way from the UK to eat here today so you don’t wanna disappoint her.”
“For real?” The guy looks at me and I nod. “Well then, you guys have got to try my new meatballs.” He perches on the edge of our table and leans in close. “The sun-dried tomato sauce is a top-secret recipe handed down from my grandma’s grandma. You won’t get anything like it outside of Italy.”
“All righty, that’s sold me.” Noah turns to me. “What do you think, Penny?”
“Sounds great.”
Antonio looks at Noah and grins. “Man, that accent is cute.”
Noah nods and I blush.
Once Antonio has taken our order and disappeared off into the kitchen, I take another look around the café. There are only a handful of other diners—all hipsters, in skinny jeans and faded T-shirts, hunched over laptops or huddled in conversation. It’s the most laid-back restaurant I think I’ve ever seen.
“This place is so cool,” I say, speaking my thoughts out loud.
“I knew you’d like it,” Noah says.
“Oh yeah? How come?”
“Because I like it.”
I raise an eyebrow at him.
“We have a lot in common, you and I.”
“We do?”