Page 23 of All The Ways to Miss You

In college, the second time around, after, I remained a recluse. And I can’t call on my experience with Lou and Aggie. She wouldn’t leave me alone. And Lou? He only talks to me because of Aggie.

“Hey.” Evan grins.

Is he still thinking about what I said this morning? I school my expression, trying not to think about it. Though I was excited originally, the more I replayed our encounter in my mind, the more I regretted it. Perhaps it’s the whispers reeling me in, but I can’t let them win.

“Where are you headed?” I ask as I move to his side and sink into a quad lunge.

“North on the Lakefront, you?”

“Same.” At least, now it is.

“So you came down here because you’d like to join me?” He smirks and moves to a side squat.

I can’t help but study the way his corded muscles move beneath his shorts, his shirt, and around his neck. My mouth suddenly turns dry. I swallow.

“Nah, but you should join me.” I stand and take off running, feeling a sense of achievement for having the last word. His footfalls follow and grow louder. I curb my growing smile when he catches me and falls into pace.

“I thought you might hide from me.”

“Why would I do that?” I ask, but I know why. Under normal circumstances, I would have shrank away. But with Evan, it’s different.

“You know . . . the other night didn’t end as you planned.”

“I didn’t plan it, but you were right. We should just be friends.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible.”

I give him a sharp look, only to find him amused. His toothy smile gleams, even at night. He was expecting me to freak out, so I give it right back.

“Come to think of it, I might not even want you as a friend. Maybe we should see where this goes before giving it a label.”

“I love it when you flirt with me.” This time, he darts away before I can respond, though I catch the sparkle in his eyes before he leaves. He enjoys our lighthearted game too.

When I catch up, we fall into a long stride. Under the glow of city streetlights, our feet thump, hitting the concrete in perfect unison. Silvery breaths flow in and out of my mouth in the brisk temperature, and my nose burns, like it’s turning pink. My body heats beneath my clothing.

“This is my favorite time in the city,” he says. “Everything’s quiet. Empty streets. No cars. No people. Just me. My head clears.”

“Me too, but for a different reason. I like peeking into houses when the lights are on.”

He gives me a curious glance. “So you’re a Peeping Tom?”

“I’m not looking to see people, just checking out their places.”

“Must be a real estate agent thing.”

“It’s an I’m-dreaming-about-buying-my-own-place thing.”

I dart down a dark alley, and Evan follows. We emerge on Astor Street. Tall trees thick with green leaves are turning gold. The breeze bends the branches. A few leaves twirl in the air and then skitter to the ground near our feet.

I stop at a small cottage—dark, abandoned, and nestled between tall Victorian mansions and stately brownstones. I gesture to the white clapboard home ringed by a peeling picket fence. When Evan reaches my side, he gives me a curious look.

“This is the one,” I say.

“The one most likely to be haunted?”

“No, this is the one I want to buy.”

“Out of all the beautiful homes on this street, why this one?”