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The fact that I’ve been anxiously awaiting a calendar invite couldn’t possibly be more pathetic.
At least my father seems appeased for the moment. He was thrilled to hear about my trip to the lab today, even more to learn that I’m going on a “long-overdue visit” (his words) to the plant this weekend. Every time we talk I’m reminded of what it would be like to have him as a partner in Angel, Inc.
Shuddering, I open my eyes, surprised to see we’re already through the tunnel.
Rain, which has apparently followed us after having stopped for a bit, starts again. Just a few drops at first. But by the time we pull onto my street, it’s raining harder than it was in Jersey.
I press a button to lower the divide.
“Drop me at Corner Deli.”
By the time we pull up to the curb, I’m questioning that decision. Home is just half a block away, but I’ll be drenched by the time I get there. Still, we’re here, and while I could call for takeout, I’d basically be paying someone else to get soaked for me.
Putting up my umbrella, I wave to Henry and walk quickly under the awning, which is crowded with others attempting to get out of the rain. Unsurprisingly, the place is packed. By the time I make it to the counter, Tony is so busy he doesn’t even notice me. I order a salad, mixing it up a bit today, and pay for it, standing to the side.
A woman not far from me, also waiting, catches my attention. There’s something vaguely familiar about her. A runner, obviously caught in the rain, her long blond hair pulled into a now-drenched ponytail.
She turns toward me.
No fucking way.
When our eyes meet, every rational thing I’ve told myself these past few days flies out the window. I’m reminded of an old friend of mine from school, the son of an Italian politician, who used to say, “Senza tentazioni, senza onore.”Roughly translated, it means there’s no glory where there’s no temptation. Although I think the point is that you’re supposed to avoid giving in to the temptation.
Ada doesn’t move, and neither do I. Until her name is called. As she makes her way to the counter, I find my feet stepping forward of their own accord.
“Hey,” she says when we’re just a few feet apart.
She’s soaked. And has never looked hotter than she does right now. To my consternation, it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that her dripping teal tank top is clinging to her chest or the fact that her tight black running shorts leave little to the imagination. Well, I’m no saint, but it’s notonlythat. I like that this is Ada in her pure form—dressed up for no one but herself.
“Did you get lost?” I ask. Fact is, this isn’t her neighborhood.
She thanks Tony, who hands her a white wrapped package. He looks between Ada and me, and I try to silently communicatethis is herwithout making it obvious.
“Kind of,” she says, but doesn’t elaborate.
“Hayden.” Tony catches my attention. I grab my salad from him, and he gives me a slight nod, confirming he caught my message. The slight face he pulls indicates he thinks I’m in trouble, but I already know.
Ada and I make our way toward the front of the shop by silent agreement. Which is when she elaborates on her answer.
“I made a bit of a—” she looks me in the eye, and I can’t tell whether she’s embarrassed, “—detour on the way home.”
Detour. On my street. That can’t be a coincidence. She knows where I live—I told her as much on Sunday.
“I see.”
It’s pouring as heavily as ever.
“You know they have this thing called a weather app.”
She looks tempted to stick out her tongue at me.
“I was hoping to get my run in ahead of the storm.”
We both look outside as more people crowd under the awning.
“So you ducked in here when it started?”
“Yep.”
