I stopped in my tracks. Oh boy. There was Hamlet at the front door, grasping yet another bouquet of flowers. My dad was holding the door open, and they both looked up at me at the same time.
“What is this, some teen movie?” I cracked, suddenly feeling so nervous that I almost tripped down the stairs. I saved it with a little jig, but their weird expressions confirmed that it was not a smooth move.
I stopped in front of my dad and pointed at him. “No speeches, no warnings, no anything. None of that paternalistic stuff.”
My dad grinned and leaned against the doorway. “I’m paternal by biology, Shorty.”
“You know what I mean,” I said while pulling on my sandals, avoiding Hamlet.
Suddenly a bunch of flowers were in my line of vision and I sprang up, knocking them out of Hamlet’s hands. “Sorry!” I bent over to pick them up at the same time he did, and we bonked heads. Ugh. What washappeningto me? I was never this flustered! Hamlet managed to re-create the bouquet and held it out to me again, a lock of hair falling into his eyes.
They were a spray of white snapdragons. “Thank you. They’re pretty,” I said as I took them from him.
He flushed deeply, red creeping up from the collar of his crisp, white button-down shirt. The sleeves were rolled up, and the shirt fit him perfectly, paired with dark blue shorts that hit his knees. He looked like he was about to make an Asian cameo in a Nicholas Sparks movie. (Did they have Asian cameos?)
After I got the flowers in a vase, I rushed out the door with Hamlet, waving at my dad. “See you, Pai.”
Before the door shut, I heard him holler, “Come home in time for breakfast!”
Now it wasmyturn to blush. What even. I couldn’t make eye contact with Hamlet. I just flew down the apartment stairs.
When we reached the sidewalk, I stopped abruptly. “Did you drive?” I asked.
A car beeped in the street. “Yup,” Hamlet said as he walked briskly toward the sound.
When we reached his car, I held up my hands. “Whoa, mama.” The car in front of us was a slick white Lexus. “Thisis your car?!”
He held the passenger door open, pressing his lips together. “Yeah. Um, my parents overcompensate for not spending enough time with me.”
As I slipped into the leather interior, I thought about how at odds Coffee Kiosk Hamlet was with this car. Who knew he was some rich kid? It annoyed me, and I felt uneasier with each passing second until he got into the driver’s seat. I was never comfortable with people who had a lot of money. I knew I shouldn’t care, but it was just one of those things.
“So, um, I didn’t want to assume you would eat where I picked, so I made a few different reservations,” Hamlet said, placing his hands on the wheel but not yet starting the car. “They are Three Leaf, CaféLola, or Hawkins & Post.”
My lips curved up into a little smile. The trifecta of hipsterrestaurants. Hamlet trying his hardest. “Um, I guess we could try CaféLola? I haven’t been to Highland Park in a while.”
“All right, CaféLola it is!” he announced cheerfully as he headed toward the 110. Highland Park was north of us, between here and Pasadena, where the office park was. He tapped the steering wheel. “I’ve heard good things about this place.”
“From who?”
“From… people.”
I opened my window, letting in a gust of warm summer evening air. “Like real people you know or the Internet?”
He laughed, all ease. “Okay. I just read the Yelp reviews.” Then I saw him shut off the AC with a near-imperceptible flick of his wrist.
“Oh, I didn’t know you had the AC on, sorry,” I said, rolling up the window.
“That’s okay! The night air feels good!” Hamlet said, rolling down his own window.
Discomfited by his niceness, I opened my window halfway as some kind of awkward compromise. We passed the next couple of minutes in strained silence. Then Hamlet picked up his phone and swiped a few times and music blasted, startling me.
“Sorry!” He immediately lowered the volume.
After a few seconds, I felt this irritation creeping in as I watched Arroyo Park flash by my window. What in the world was annoying me so much? Then a male voice screeched.
I cringed. “Are we listening to IMAGINE DRAGONS?”
Hamlet grinned, glancing over at me. “Yeah! Aren’t they great?”
