Jordan looks down at me with a boyish grin, and his eyebrows rise—I know what he’s asking. He wants me to find this guy's perfect song. I lean forward, getting a better glimpse of Stan. He appears to be in his sixties with long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck, and he wears a uniquely patterned shirt that gives off free-spirit vibes.
I turn to Jordan and mouth, “Cat Stevens.”
He shrugs and cocks an eyebrow, asking me which Cat Stevens song.
I raise an eyebrow of my own, signaling that the ball’s in his court now.
Moments later, Cat Steven’s “Moonshadow” plays over the speakers—the exact song I would have picked.
Instantly, a smile breaks across Stan's lips. “Cat, my man! You’ve got good taste.”
The carefree melody plays on, and Stan slips into the lyrics as one would an old pair of boots.
Jordan puts out a fist, and I bump it with my own. Another musical victory in the books.
A minute goes by with only Stan's wistful singing to keep us company, then Jordan shifts forward. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into my ear, raising every hair on the back of my neck. Before I can ask him why, he adds, “You were right. It was not my place to step in and tell you who to date.”
Oh, he’s talking about Ian. I’ve been so caught up with the rafting incident and the panic attack that I almost forgot that we’ve been at a stalemate these past couple of days.
“From now on, consider me Team Paige,” he says. “Whatever or whoever makes you happy, I’m happy for you.”
His happy-go-lucky attitude is back again, but this time he’s aimed it at my dating life.
I narrow my eyes, half skeptical, half amused. “Really?” I whisper, trying to keep our conversation to our side of the vehicle. “So, even if I go out with Ian, you won’t push back?”
He nods his head, appearing completely compliant. “Yep. Even if it’s Ian.”
“You won’t make fun of my nickname or try to sabotage any future dates?”
“Nope. Like I said, Team Paige. Anywhere or anyone that makes you happy, I’ll be supportive.”
An apology, I expected. But a cheerful acceptance of California and now Ian? Something feels very off.
I’m not sure why I say it—maybe I’m feeling snarky, or maybe I want to test the boundaries of his yes-man attitude—but I do. “And if Ian isthe one?”
Just then, the car hits a pothole, and my whole body bounces to the left. I reach out a hand, steadying myself on Jordan’s knee, while at the same time, Jordan’s arm wraps firmly around my waist.
The car levels out on a flat road once more, but I don’t move. Jordan pulls me closer, and for a moment, I let my body weight rest against his chest. I can feel the rhythmic beating of his heart in tandem with my own. He turns his head until it nearly rests on mine. Then, too soon, he leans away. One by one, his fingers release their grip on my waist until his hand is removed altogether, bringing me back to reality. I swiftly pull my hand from his knee.
Jordan clears his throat. “If Ian’s the one, then… things between us will look a little different in the future.”
My stomach bottoms out like I’m riding one of those amusement park rides that pull you high into the air then drop you hundreds of feet when you least expect it. But his words aren’t news to me. In fact, they’ve been at the forefront of my mind ever since Missy and Ji suggested I start dating for real.
Jordan is right—one way or another, our future is going to change. Even though all we have between us is friendship, I doubt any significant other would see our relationship that way. And I wouldn't want anyone to even question my loyalty. So even though Jordan’s words grate against every nerve ending, we’re on the same page. I don’t need a crystal ball to tell me that if I choose to date Ian, my future will have a lot less Jordan.
“Yes, it will be different,” I say.
“And I will respect you and Ian and give you the space you both need,” Jordan says sincerely.
“Good, because I’ll be going on more dates with Ian next week.” I don’t know why I tell Jordan this, but if my subconscious is trying to make him jealous, it has failed miserably.
“Good,” he says.
“Great,” I say.
“Awesome.”
We spend the remainder of the short ride listening to “Moonshadow,” passing what feels like miles of trees. When the song comes to an end, the silence in the car becomes stifling until Stan starts whistling.
