Lightning pings in his eyes. His hand clasps mine, more firm.
“But I need to go slow,” I whisper, the only betrayal of the truth roiling in my gut.
Eitan smiles, sadness and pleasure and anticipation all wrapped in one. He leans in and whispers against my cheek, his lips giving me goosebumps. “I can be gentle with you.”
chapter
twenty
For all Eitan’sassurance that he’s a poor communicator, I have yet to see it. We keep a text chain going consistently for three days after the tasting. I’m waiting for him to ask me out. There’s no way I’m going to make a first move again. But Eitan just insists on asking me random questions. Things like,What’s your favorite song this week?And,How was work?It’s nice—don’t get me wrong—but it’s making me anxious. Maybe he changed his mind, or he’s talking to other people. Maybe he woke up one morning and decided he was repulsed by me. With the pleasant banality of our conversation, I have absolutely no idea!
Are you free on the ninth?Eitan texts one morning. A flurry of excited nerves break out in my stomach at the sight of his name.
I let the text simmer all day, torturing myself, retracing over it when I should be listening to the Lunch & Learn our CTO is giving.I’m okay with now, I remind myself, every time I come close to responding. I need to wait until I’m less eager.
I don’t need to check my calendar to know that I am, indeed, free. My calendar is pretty much empty every single day, save for Penelope’s random, incessant wedding task invites, which haveslowed considerably since I finished her list. I haven’t told her it’s finished, which is just one small way to get back at her for lying about Miri quitting.
I go back and forth on how to respond all afternoon.Play it cool, one self-preserving voice demands. Say,Maybe, why?Then, a heart-eyed romantic voice squeals like a midcentury Disney princess,It’s probably a date!
It can’thurtto find out why he’s asking, I reason. Then, I can decide whether to play it cool or not. Maybe he wants to invite me to a beach clean up volunteer day. And I’m getting my panties in a knot over nothing. Yes, that seems like a good plan.
Why?I write.
Even though his first text was six hours ago, he responds right away:I’ve got a surprise for you.
Well. That doesn’t give me much to go on.I don’t like surprises, I say.
You’ll like this.
But—I type.
I’ll pick you up at 5.
By the timethe ninth rolls around, I’ve imagined every possible surprise Eitan could have waiting for me.
I’m taking you on a candlelit boat ride in a park full of swans.
We’re going skydiving.
I want you to keep me company while I go to the DMV.
The tinny ding of my buzzer, right at five o’clock, feels like a bomb. I walk down the stairs slowly, making sure my socks are straight, double and triple checking that my tee isn’t wrinkledbeneath my slip dress. My hair is carefully pinned back so that only a few pieces are loose to frame my face.
Eitan is wearing a denim jacket and light linen pants, reading a nearby street sign when I finally leave my building. It’s an early September day where the air has the faintest bite to it, a welcome change after the muggy heat of summer.
“Moreno,” I call out to him.
He turns and looks struck by what he sees. “You look beautiful,” he says.
I blush and pinch my arm to keep myself from floating away.I’m okay with now.
“You look nice, too.” I look for his car, but don’t see it. “You didn’t drive?”
“We’re walking.” He holds out an arm. “It’s only ten minutes from here.”
I nod, take his arm, and we walk. He routes us toward Armitage, wading through the new influx of DePaul students. We get to a quiet side street lined with trees, and there’s no longer a need to hold onto each other, but neither of us makes a move to let go.
“How was your day?” Eitan asks.
