Page 19 of Five Things I See in You

Through the window, between the rooftops, you can see a piece of the Space Needle, a tip of metal against the gray Seattle sky as it starts to get dark.

“I’ve never been up,” I say.

“Me neither, and I’ve been here six seasons.”

“Well, it would be a good place for a date,” I suggest, giving her a little nudge on the shoulder.

Night falls while we talk about everything and nothing. About my brother, about a coach I had when I was a kid who made me cry with laughter and who my dad thought was very unprofessional. About her family.

When we step out onto the street, we walk without an umbrella because neither of us thought to bring one. Jordan doesn’t speed up or look for shelter under the awnings: she walks as if the rain has nothing to do with her.

“You don’t mind getting wet?”

“Depends on the day,” she says. “Not today.”

At a stoplight, without saying anything, she takes my hand and gets this goofy smile that I love.

We walk like that the remaining four blocks to her place, her hand cold and mine even colder, and at some point everything blurs and stops mattering; all I notice is the feel of her fingers between mine.

“You should live farther away,” I joke when we reach her front door.

Jordan looks at my lips before looking me in the eyes, and she looks away so quickly I almost miss it.

“You’re blushing,” I murmur.

“I don’t suppose you want to…” she says, making a clumsy gesture with her finger toward the building.

“Another day, you still owe me a real date,” I answer with a wink.

Chapter 13

Jordan

On Sunday I plant myself in front of the Space Needle entrance twenty minutes early, with the tickets printed out and stapled together in my purse.

I take shelter under the awning at the entrance and pull them out again to check the time. I think it’s the fourth time I’ve done it. There are seventeen minutes left and I don’t know what to do with my hands.

A little later, I spot Noa coming through the crowd, wearing a dark hoodie under her coat, her hair wet from the rain. She waves at me from far away and then looks down to dodge a puddle while she pushes a damp strand of hair off her forehead.

“Hi, have you been waiting long?” she says when she reaches me.

“No way, I just got here,” I lie.

The moment she smiles, I forget every word of the script I’d prepared. The tickets are in my hand. The reservation is made. A whole plan that last night seemed like a really good idea… and now my mind goes blank.

“You know you can keep the tickets on your phone, right?” she jokes when she sees I’m holding them in my hand.

“It’s in case… in case my phone dies.”

“Ah, okay. And you stapled them and everything, in case one tried to make a run for it,” she teases, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t laugh,” I protest.

“No, no, I’m just admiring your ability to plan a simple sightseeing trip.”

“I also booked a table for dinner. In case… in case you feel like it later, I heard it’s a good place and…”

Now she does laugh. A gorgeous laugh, her head tilted back a little.