“Our lantern will end up where it’s supposed to. Don’t worry,” I reassure him.
“Okay, I won’t worry about fate,” Jack says with an undercurrent of sarcasm. It’s subtle, but I notice it. A snag in his typically calm reserve. “How about instead, I’ll just worry about getting caught and spending the night in jail.”
“If you have that experience, maybe you won’t fear it as much.”
He adjusts his footing. “That’s a lesson I’ll happily skip.”
Within minutes, the lantern takes on a life of its own, the heat inside letting us know it no longer wants to be earthside. Our lantern floats even higher, guiding our hands up with it.
With our arms above our heads, Jack and I lock eyes under the glow of the flame. Through his dark lashes, I can see that eye-smile again.
He shrugs. “Might as well let go on three. One, two—”
At the same time, we both whisper “three” and release the lantern up toward the indigo sky. As we watch it follow its freewheeling path, we bump into each other, momentarily unaware of any unspoken boundaries.
I’m breathless and, so it seems, is Jack.
“That was thrilling,” he says with a slightly confused look on his face.
“You look positively radiant,” I say, mimicking his serious look.
Laughter pours out of him, unrestrained. It’s the first time I’ve heard it from him. There’s an unexpected warmth in it, such childlike joy beneath his stony exterior.
Outside, it’s a low thirty degrees, and I can hardly feel my face, but hearing Jack’s laugh under the brightest full moon I’ve ever seen thaws out all parts of me. As the moon beams like a spotlight over the Hudson River, a tingling sensation unravels in my chest. Could he be…
“Rooney, there’s someone I want you to meet,” Talia calls out to me.
I’m torn out of my red thread thoughts as Talia waves her arms across the rooftop to get my attention. I consider stalling, but she’s too enthusiastic to ignore.
“Be right back,” I tell Jack. “See you in a minute?”
“Sure,” he says with a hesitant nod.
I’m introduced to Talia’s frequent gallery visitors as her gallery’s assistant, a cover-up we formed years ago to keep my secret artist identity intact. We make small talk about what’s happening in today’s art scene and how much colder this winter has been. When there’s a lull in the conversation, I excuse myself and search for Jack on the rooftop and in the host’s apartment. He’s nowhere to be found. Gone in the wind like our lantern.
I look out the living room windows, searching the streets as if I’d be able to pinpoint exactly where Jack is. He’s out there somewhere in the city.
Maybe this was meant to be our final interaction. Such is life. It’s a sign as clear as the moon in the sky. I should let it go, let the thought of him go.
Just like the lantern.
Chapter 5
JACK
It’s 7:01 p.m. I’ve been awake for over eighteen hours. When Rooney’s pulled away by her friend, I use the opportunity to find my colleague and grab my notebook. My colleague is nowhere to be found on the rooftop or in the apartment. Instead, he’s a couple of avenues over at a bar. I make the ten-minute trip and debate whether to go back to the party to find Rooney to say good-bye.
I should call it a night. Go back to the hotel and sleep this lousy day off. It was one thing for there not to be enough pamphletsandto be late for my presentation. It was another for Dave to have mixed up my order with someone else’s and have to spend the rest of the day passing out menus to a local Chinese restaurant for people to take notes on.
That was followed up with fielding questions about where the information on Mars and our mission went and if the mission is still even happening at all. Repeating over and over that no, the conference was not catered, and that I will not be taking lunch orders. I rushed through the last fifteen minutes of my hour-long presentation and then skipped the networking altogether. That won’t help my promotability.
Suffice it to say, today did not go well for me. But at least Noodle Palace gained two hundred new customers.
If I’m being honest with myself, assigning “lousy” to this entire day would be inaccurate. There was Rooney. Rooney who said weirdthings to make me laugh. Who kept me at the party far longer than I wanted to be. Who made me actually enjoy myself in a social setting. Who is unlike anyone I’ve ever met.
I pull the scarf over the lower half of my face and breathe in her smell. I feel a pen clipped into the neckline of my sweater. Rooney’s Discipline Pen. Or her Do-Good Pen, rather. I can’t steal this from Rooney. She did provide me with warmth, after all. I have to go back to the party.
Rooney isn’t in the apartment. A surprise pang of disappointment jolts through me. I continue my search and walk up to the rooftop to try to find her, but she doesn’t seem to be here, either. I should’ve said bye earlier. Covered my bases. Tied up loose ends. Now she’s somewhere in the city, an unspoken good-bye between us.
