Essel’s Pov
Michael confidently places his order on Friday evening at the diner where I work, situated a few miles from our school.
"One chocolate milkshake with a side of you," he states.
I let out a brief laugh, albeit a short one, as his opening line is rather cheesy.
"Regrettably, I am not part of the menu," I respond, offering a bittersweet smile.
Michael leans back in his barstool at the counter where our conversation first began.
"I can charm you, though," I add with a slight smile.
He shrugs and leans in closer, showing no discomfort with the proximity.
I lean in to his ear and whisper some of my favorite sweet nothings once again: "Cannoli, Tres Leche, Scones, Macaroons."
He tilts his head so that his lips are nearly brushing against mine, our breaths mingling in the air
