In the first place, there was the weather, which could be nothing less than a gift from above: warm but not humid, not a cloud in the dusky, early-evening sky, a light breeze fluttering the colorful line of paper lanterns strung up from one corner of the fence to the other. It’d seemed so unbelievably perfect, in fact, that Nora had even pulled up a radar app on her phone, double-checking to confirm there wasn’t some freak, fast-moving rainstorm on its way.
But no—for the next six hours at least, it was nothing but clear skies ahead.
And that was plenty of time for a poetry reading.
It wasn’t the weather alone, though, that had Nora feeling confident. When she’d hung up the phone with Deepa yesterday, she’d set about making a list, and it’d been a long one—impossibly long, really—and when she’d made her way down to Marian and Emily’s afterward, nervous about how Marian would take a request to alter her monthly plans, she wasn’t actually sure she could get it all done.
But like the weather, everything had fallenexactlyinto place. Marian hadn’t only been on board, she’d also—in the spirit of the great public school teacher she’d been for decades—set immediately to work on the evening’s . . . uh,elevated. . . agenda, while Nora and her other neighbors got to work on the logistics. Oh, nearly everyone they called last-minute could come? Great. The florist over on West Fullerton happened to have a whole bunch of flower crowns from a canceled event on deep discount? Terrific. Benny was looking to unload a bunch of that same American Wheat Ale he’d offered to Will a couple of days ago? Perfect. Hey, a guy two buildings down had a microphone and amplifier they could borrow? Well, whynot?
By seven, the backyard was packed, the air thick with conversation and the smell of the grilled meat Mr. Salas was proudly in charge of, having agreed to participate only if he had no poetry-related responsibilities.
So really, the night only wanted for one thing.
An appearance by the suddenly scarce Will Sterling.
From her spot near the back fence, standing behind a “welcome” table she and Benny had set up earlier, Nora reached up to adjust the crown of daisies perched on top of her head, then moved her hand down to tug at the elastic band across the top of the off-the-shoulder cotton dress she’d chosen, a long, flowy thing that she thought matched the Late-in-May-Day theme they’d gone with. Beneath it, her feet were bare on the cool, dry blades of grass, and she tried to let the feeling ground her, keep her in the moment, but she kept fidgeting, kept looking up to see whether Will’s car would come rumbling down the back alley.
He’d been around this morning, Emily had said; she’d seen him carrying two cans of paint into Donny’s place, but within a couple of hours she’d noticed his car was gone again, and he hadn’t made another appearance, not during all the time they’d been setting up. Nora had been under the assumption that he’d taken time off work, that his plan was to be at the building every day, every night. If he didn’t show, Marian would still have a great poetry reading, sure.
But Nora would definitely have egg on her face.
She was starting to give up hope, the prettily decorated box in front of her nearly empty of its contents, when Nonna came through again—Will’s car crackling along the gravel, pulling in to his spot—and she had to clasp her hands together to keep from raising them in victory.
She felt a thrill of satisfaction when he didn’t get out immediately. Since she couldn’t see him well through his windshield, she imagined the expression she most wanted him to have: eyes wide, jaw agape. She hoped she had him on the run already.
But when he stepped out of his car and stood to his full height, closing his door behind him, he didn’t look like he was on the run.
He looked calm and in control and extra handsome, because he had his terrible (terrific) glasses on. He was dressed less casually than she’d seen him before—not in scrubs or jeans or a faded T-shirt. Instead, he wore a pair of slim-cut, dark blue pants, a crisp, lighter blue button-up tucked into them, the sleeves rolled back neatly, almost to his elbows.
She suppressed a sigh. Not a swooning sigh! An exasperation sigh, for sure.
She tugged again at the elastic of her suddenly too-bohemian-seeming dress as she watched him approach.No need to be nervous, she scolded herself.You’re prepared for this.
“Hi,” she said cheerfully. “Perfect timing!”
But shewasa little nervous, because for a second, when he stood in front of her, his eyes seemed to take her in, flower crown and then down, his gaze slipping briefly—so briefly, she might’ve imagined it—over the bare skin of her shoulders.
He cleared his throat, reached up to adjust his glasses, and Nora thought:There. Right there is your type.
“Whose party?”
Nora shrugged, definitelynotthinking about whether doing so made her shoulders look nice. “Everyone’s. The whole building! So glad you could make it.”
“I’m pretty sure you know I didn’t have any intention of making it.” He looked around, his eyes snagging on the microphone across the yard. His brow lowered. “Whateveritis.”
Nora smiled up at him. “It’s Marian’s monthly poetry reading!” She swept an arm out, gesturing to the whole setup. “Isn’t it great? It can get sort of loud, but it’s fun. Anyway, it’s good you’re here, to get a sense of it. Maybe you can leave a note for your . . . tenants, or whatever. So they know what to expect.”
He looked down at her, one of his eyebrows rising. “I can’t imagine how you got a permit for a gathering like this.”
She tried not to do anything lying-related. “You’re awfully into permits,” she said.
“So is the city of Chicago.”
She straightened things on her welcome table that did not need straightening. Chances were low that a poetry reading full of people mostly over sixty would get too loud, she figured. What was most important was that Will thought all this was business as usual.
“Well, like I said. This one happens every month, so.”
“This one?”
