“Oh, geez." Noah feigns that I've shot an arrow into his cchcest and falls on the ground. "You''re killing mme, Hannah, you''re killllllinnngg mmmmee.”

“And Hannah?" he says. "Don't beat yourself up too much. You know, about the whole Noah thing. Sometimes it happens.”

“The secret to a great ice cream, is crunch coat."[...]I look at him, aghast. "Crunch coat? Oh, Noah darling, you are so wrong. Everyone knows you ruin ice cream by putting crunch coat on it,""Crunch coat," Noah says, "is delicious. And besides, I'm supposed to be taking advice from you?""What's that supposed to mean?""You listen to Lady Gaga.”

“Hannah." He looks at me, the same way he looked at me last night in the diner, with longing and sadness, and it's like everything I'm feeling I can see in his eyes. I want to kiss him so bad it hurts, but I know I can't. So instead, I tear my gaze from his and look down at the ground.”

“You have to gooo," Lacey says."She doesn't have to," Noah says. "If she can't handle it, she can't handle it.”

“So you were checking up on me?" I aks"No," Noah says. He puts a faux-shocked look on his face, then turns back to his magazine, pretending to be engrossed. I take the magazine our of his hand and toss it back onto the table."That's good," I say, "That you weren't checking up on me. Because I'm totally fine.""I know." He shrugs."And I don't need to be checked up on.""Definitely not.""I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself.""Perfectly.""So we agree.""Yup.""So then where are you clothes?""What?""Your clothes," I say. "Where are your clothes? You came to the Laundromat so you must have some clothes." I fold my arms across my chest and wait,"Oh, my clothes," he says, giving me an easy grin. "I didn't come here to do laundry.""Oh, really?" I say. "The what were you here to do?""I was here," he says, rolling his eyes like it should be obvious, "so I could go across the street to Cooley's and check my schedule for the week.""And you just happened to see me coming into the Laundromat?""Exactly,”

“One large soy latte." [...]"You mean a Venti," [...]"What?" I ask"A Venti," he says. " that's what we call larger here. You know that Hannah.""Well, whatever," I say, my bad mood deepening. "Whatever you call them, that's what I want." They should just call them larger. How stupid.”