“Yeah,” I said. “It was fun.”
He walked me to the door. He kissed me goodbye. There was no more talk of a trip to Los Angeles. There was no more talk of anything at all.
Outside, the night had turned cool. I hugged my arms to mychest and started walking west, away from the water. After about a block I noticed something stuck to the bottom of my shoe. I teetered on the street, using my right hand to peel the paper off.
Stuart, one night.
I dropped the paper into my bag, and kept walking.
Chapter Twelve
On Sundays Hugo and I go to the farmers market at Melrose Place—a small outdoor market with six produce stands, the good bagels, and excellent sundried-tomato-infused feta cheese. It’s also near Alfred, a coffee shop that makes the world’s best iced latte.
In addition to the food, the market has the most gorgeous bouquets of roses—purples and pinks and deep burgundies. And giant, heady sunflowers to take home, too. There’s also a clothing stand with patchwork coats in the winter and Coachella-inspired cover-ups in the summer. I love it here. I’d love it even more if Hugo didn’t make us go before 10:00 a.m.
Hugo wakes up and runs six miles every morning, and his route spits him out right by my apartment. He ends up coming over around nine, when I’m just emerging, and we walk over together, Murphy trotting at my heels. It’s become somewhat of our weekend ritual, if we’re both in town, which I always am and he seldom is.
At 9:03 he texts me from the sidewalk:Where r u?
I pull on a sweatshirt and stick my head out the door. He’s in a moisture-wicking black T-shirt and shorts. He has an armband around his bicep where he keeps his iPhone, but right now he’s texting on it.
“I need two minutes,” I mouth to him.
He pops out an earbud. “Yo,” he says. “Good morning.”
“Do you want to come in?”
Hugo shakes his head. “No, I want you to come out.”
I close the door without responding and slide my feet into my favorite pair of burnt-orange Birkenstocks. I grab my wallet and anINYtote bag from off the counter and leave with my keys.
I meet him back on the sidewalk. Murphy stays home. I showed him his leash and he didn’t even pick his head up.
“You look like you had fun last night,” he says when I’m outside.
“I do?” I’m wearing bike shorts and an oversize sweatshirt.
Hugo eyes me. “Well, I mean, you look tired.”
“Wow, what a compliment.” I slide my tote bag over my shoulder, and then Hugo loops it off me and carries it down by his side.
After dinner at Pace Jake dropped me back off. He didn’t kiss me. I thought he was going to, but he leaned in, kissed my cheek again, just like last time, and then asked if he could see me next Friday.
Hugo doesn’t say anything, and we start walking.
“We didn’t kiss last night,” I spit out. “It was our second date. What do you think that’s about?”
Hugo slides his phone into his pocket. “Did you put it out there?”
I think about Jake and me standing in front of my door. I wanted to. It felt like he wanted to. “There was a vibe,” I say.
Hugo considers this. “Maybe he’s just not that into you yet.” He snaps his fingers like he’s just thought of something revelatory. “I bet that’s something you never considered. You know it’s him, but he doesn’t know it’s you!”
I crane my neck up to look at him. “OK, first of all, fuck you. Secondly, I feel like he is, though. I definitely feel like there’s this thing between us.” I take a breath in. “He was married. He told me about it last night. Maybe it was that?”
Hugo nudges my elbow to step up onto the curb to avoid a passing car. “So he’s newly divorced or something?”
I shake my head. “His wife passed away. It was six or seven years ago.”
