Nate's eyebrows shot up.
"Well, not adult adult, but like....written for grownups?"
"And you understood them?"
"Yes," I laughed. "Vocabulary-wise. They were just...maybe...boring? And sometimes gruesome. So I realized a couple years ago that there was this whole age group of literature that I'd completely skipped. I picked up a young adult romance that had been mis-shelved in this very bookstore, took it home, and the rest is history.”
"So you like reading about teenagers? Like...kissing?" Nate wrinkled his nose, and though he still smiled, I saw the ghost of a look I'd seen plenty of times over. Judging me. Thinking he was better, or smarter, or more grown-up.
"Well, yeah," I said, finding my ground in a way I hadn't before. “It’s sweet.” Jordan and I had talked about high school for a couple of hours one night after we'd...well, enjoyed each other...reliving our crushes and all the drama that had seemed so serious then. I remembered thinking that he made me feel that way - not overly dramatic, but like a kid again. Just endlessly happy, like we were the only two people that existed and nothing could ever go wrong.
Nate was still staring at me, puzzled.
"The emotions there are just so pure, you know? When you're a teen, you haven't been through so much pointless adult shit, so everything is just sort of raw and unfiltered. They just feel everything in a way that grownups have been taught not to. I think."
I cleared my throat, waiting for his response. He smiled and dipped his head in a polite nod. "Okay, then. Show me."
That was unexpected. I gave him a small secret smile and squeezed his hand. We walked quietly up the stairs to the young adult room. I found a copy of The Knife of Never Letting Go by Patrick Ness, and started reading.
He was actually listening, his fingers trailing a gentle, inches long path back and forth against my sweater. A smile formed on my face, unbidden, and I kept going.
Nathaniel Perfect might be worth an honest-to-goodness chance.
* * *
That afternoon, back at the Philly Illustrated offices, I struggled to do my 500-word write-up for the day. Alphonso glided his chair back and forth behind mine, humming stupid show tunes about love too loudly for me to ignore.
“God, Alphonso, could you stop for five seconds so I can write?” I finally blew up at him after half an hour of self-control.
“If it was a good date, you would have been done with the column by now,” he sang as he rolled back to his desk.
I bit down on my lip and kept my eyes fixed to the screen so he couldn’t see the tear rolling down my cheek.
I missed Jordan. I hated him, but I missed him all the same.
I went home that night and settled onto the couch with a bottle of wine and the TV remote. I itched to pull my phone out and call Kiera, but the guy I was trying to avoid was her brother. Even if she was on my side, talking to her would only remind me of Jordan. As I sat there mindlessly bingeing shows I’d already seen, my phone rang from inside my purse, over and over again, and I forced myself to stay away. I didn’t want to know if Jordan was calling – I didn’t want to know if he wasn’t.
I woke up hours later in the pitch-black living room with the TV glowing blue, my cheek smashed into the arm of the couch, shivering. I hauled myself in the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth, and stared into the mirror, instantly remembering that night with Jordan on the couch.
Freaking hell. I missed him.
The next day, Mr. Perfect and I had a pre-dinner date, taking me back at Uncle Phil's Philly Phun Zone, where Nate played an impressive game of skee-ball and even pulled the age-old flirty move of standing behind me and guiding my arm with his to perfect my skee-ball form. He used the hundred and eighty tickets we won to "buy" me a cheap plastic rhinestone necklace and earring set, which he fastened for me while I held my hair up. "Beautiful," he whispered against my ear, and this time, I didn't shrug away.
Try, Liz.
I'd had to remind myself less and less as the marathon date went on. We had three more stops, over two more days, technically - a record store, a stroll through the Morris Arboretum, and then attending a Philly Flyers game. There was optional dancing at the end, at some new club, which I could choose to take advantage of, or not. Nate didn't know about it.
This time, it was my hand that reached down to twine with his. "Ready to find some tunes?"
"Oh my God," he laughed. "Has anyone actually used that terminology since, like, the 60s?"
I shrugged. "Maybe not. Do you mind?"
"Not one bit," he said, giving me a gentle smile. I noticed his hand getting a little sweaty again, and I squeezed it in response.
"You okay?" I asked gently.
"Yeah, just a little nervous."
"After we've been hanging out for like...what? Day number three and six hours now?"
"Because I've been thinking about doing this," he said, before quickly leaning in and brushing a soft kiss against my cheekbone. His eyes floated up to mine, and he stayed bent toward me, his lips still hovering inches from my face. All I would have to do to turn the cheek kiss into a real kiss was turn my head up to his, stand on my tiptoes a bit, maybe touch his face.
For some reason, though, I just...didn't. Instead, I smiled and squeezed his hand, then stepped toward the waiting cab, called for us by Alphonso, who was stationed back at the office.
We slid into the seats, and I found myself scooting as far toward my door as possible. My eyes found his, which were watching me intently. "No need to be nervous," I said, squeezing his hand again.
He smiled, still looking a little shaky. Poor guy.
"Hey. I was bossy at the book store. Maybe you have a thing or two to teach me about music?"
"Oh," he said, his shoulders relaxing back into the seat. "Absolutely."
Chapter 29
Jordan
I thought Friday was the worst day of Mr. Perfect Date Week imaginable. I was so wrong. My Saturday schedule was completely empty, which meant I had nothing but time to wallow.
I hadn't been able to tear my eyes away from the #LizDatesMrPerfect tag all day. It was like a train wreck for the very reason that it...well...wasn't a train wreck. I had never seen more pictures of Liz looking gorgeous and smiley and flirty in my entire life. If I hadn't known her in real life, hadn't had the opportunity to touch her and kiss her and laugh with her and really get to know her, I would think she was a character in a movie.
I saw every single detail like it was magnified a thousand times - the way her hair curled and rested just so exactly where her bra strap would be, the glint of her earrings - I almost never saw her wear dangling earrings, but there they were - the perfectly drawn line of her lipstick.
It drove me crazy when she wore lipstick, mostly because it made me think of all the places on my body I'd found hers smeared since we'd become - whatever we were.
Whatever we had been.
Just as I was wincing at the horrible selection of music Mr. Nate Perfect queued up at Long in the Tooth, an incredible record store on Sansom, my phone buzzed again.
Kiera.
I wondered as I picked up if any other guy in Philly had a sister this involved in his love life. Or lack thereof.
“Hey, Kiki,” I sighed in to the phone.
“Day three,” she jumped in, big guns blazing. “You’re not holding up well, are you? It’s no wonder. This guy really is Mr. Perfect.”
“Wow, thanks. Really encouraging.”
“Listen, brother, I love you, and I want you to be happy. But I love Lizzie, too, and you have to admit that you did a monumentally stupid thing.”
“Again, sis, it’s not like you were innocent.”
“Oh, will you stop it? I was messing around. Twenty-five votes is nothing compared to the haul you pulled in. And you had an ulterior motive.”
“I would honestly give anything to admit that, if she would listen to me. But she told me herself not to contact her, and now this Mr. Perfect guy turns out to be act
ually perfect. I mean, what are the chances that she comes back to her apartment in abject misery after this whole thing?” After a second of silence, I whined, “None. The chances are none.”
“You mean, like you made sure she did on all those other nights?” Kiera paused, and I heard the sound of mad clicking on her end. I bit my tongue. “I don’t know, JJ. She doesn’t exactly look thrilled to be with him.’
“Are you kidding me? Did you see her at that cheesy arcade place, with the jewelry? She looked like he’d just given her the biggest fucking diamond in existence.”
“Yeah, okay…except don’t you think she’s smiling too much? And look how her shoulders are all tense when he does it. Hold on.”
More clicking, and about twenty seconds later my phone buzzed with a photo text. It was a zoomed in picture of the delicate line of Liz’s neck, framed in wispy blond strands that fell from her hands when she held the rest of her hair back. “See?” Kiera piped in again. “The tendons in her neck. They’re sticking out. She’s trying not to step away from him, or something. She’s not into it. Not really.”
I peered at my phone and sighed again. “I don’t know, Kiera. That’s a pretty big stretch.”
She sighed. “Whatever, brother. Just…don’t give up yet. Okay? Maybe…I don’t know. Maybe email her boss. See if you can explain yourself.”
“And meddle even more in her life? Become more of a stalker?”
“I don’t know, Jordan. It’d be for love.” She drew out the last word and I could just picture her moony eyes as she did. “What if there’s still a chance?”
“You’re such a sap,” I teased, even though I couldn’t bring myself to laugh, or even smile.
“Ingrate,” she said. “Keep me posted, okay? I worry about you.”
“Thanks,” I said, my voice breaking. “Hey, Kiera?” I asked in a tone that I was fully aware was pathetic and whiny.
“Yeah?”
“Are you gonna keep following the date?”
“Is the sky blue?”
I grinned, feeling tears of unexplained gratitude forming in my eyes. “Thanks, Kiki.”
“Love you, JJ.”
Chapter 30
Liz
Twenty-Nine – Liz
Mr. Perfect Date Weekend was going exactly as Monica had hoped. We’d picked up coverage on the Philly morning news show, and for the first time ever, I felt like this job at Philly Illustrated was getting me somewhere.
"I have a confession to make," Nate said as we left the Arboretum early Saturday evening. I’d loved the lush green indoor space even more the second time around, knowing all the cool things I should look for, and the relief of having something solid to write about in my update washed over me.
"You're not actually from Philly, you have a girlfriend already, and this is another elaborate prank?" I tried to keep my tone light. I’d been through so much bullshit during the Liz Dates Philly experience that not much would have surprised me anymore.
Nate winced with a smile. "Yeah, I read about that whole thing. Your friend rigging the votes? You must have been pretty pissed at her."
I reeled back to take him in, the realization that some people thought it was one of my childhood slumber-party variety friends who'd been messing with me instead of someone like JJ. My mouth dropped open to answer that it was a guy who'd messed this whole thing up, but something stopped the words from coming out.
"No," he chuckled, saving me from another moment of awkwardness. "No, just that...well, I was so shocked when I realized I'd get another chance at this whole dating the famous Liz Dates Philly girl thing. And then I spent some time looking for pictures of you, whatever information was out there.”
"So you're saying you didn't rig anything, but you are guilty of stalking?" I made sure he saw the gentle smile on my face.
"Geez," he said, running a hand down over his chest in what I'd learned was his chief nervous gesture. "No. No more than anyone else. I mean, no more than anyone does with anyone they're dating on Facebook or whatever."
I raised my eyebrows, maintaining the smile.
"Okay, okay. I'm talking myself into a hole. All I meant to say was... I realized after a couple days that I might actually turn out to like you. I mean, on paper, you're... well, you're pretty fantastic. I guess that's how all online dating works, of course, but I thought, what the heck. Maybe once I met you in person, I'd realize you're even better than everything I'd already learned would tell me."
I bit my lip, letting the ghost of butterflies in my belly turn itself into a small smile. Flattery was nice. Nate was nice. No, Nate was perfect. Butterflies in my stomach were entirely fitting and appropriate in this situation.
Never mind the fact that I’d spent every night this week thinking of Jordan while I lay in bed, wide awake. Missing him.
"So," he continued, "I planned an alternate last date of the week. Just in case a Flyers game didn't fit the mood."
"And?" I asked, still teasing my bottom lip with my teeth.
"I think—and this is only if you agree, of course - that I'd like the chance to take you somewhere else. Someplace nice. Not that the Wells Fargo Center isn't nice, that's not what I'm trying to say… just that…“
I laughed. "I get it. What about Philly Illustrated's agreement with the Flyers?"
He placed his free hand over his heart. "I solemnly swear to whatever Philly Illustrated powers that be that I will personally attend a game at the Wells Fargo Center with at least two friends, sample every snack they have to offer, and write a glowing but accurate review on every news outlet available to me. At my personal expense, of course."
"Of course," I nodded, my lips twitching with a smile.
"But for now," Nate said, letting go of my hand and winding his arm around my waist, "I'd like to go somewhere quiet. With wine, and candles. With good food and fancy desserts. Does that sound like something you'd be up for?"
It was strange, looking at this objectively handsome guy—this good, polite, perfect guy—and feeling nothing in my gut, no appropriate reaction to his question. Most girls would have been falling all over themselves for Nate, sweaty palms or not. I recognized the pleasing angle of his jaw, his great taste in clothes, his impeccable manners, his respectful flirting, were all something that would make any other girl in my situation trip all over herself not only to go to a romantic fancy restaurant with him, but to make sure that he didn't leave her sight for the rest of the night and probably many, many days thereafter.
I just...didn't care. One way or the other. If Deanna had popped up between us right this moment and said that we had to cut the date short, I'd shake Nate's hand, kiss him on the cheek, and respond noncommittally to his request to call me.
But nobody popped up to end our date, and really, there wasn't any reason not to go to a nicer place than a Flyers game with him. So I dipped my head, made a point of looking up at him through my eyelashes like a girl who was enjoying this kind of attention, and said in a lighter voice than I normally would, "I'd like that."
It wasn't a lie. It just wasn't true, either.
After a day of small talk and gentle teasing, with a little compliment-heavy flirting here and there, sitting across from Nate in an environment that pretty much blocked out all other noise was kind of nice.
"So, what gives with this whole assignment? I've spent—” he checked his watch, a nice grownup one “—nine hours with you now, and I have no idea what to think about the entire premise for this weekend-long date. Don't get me wrong, it could be a very fun story to tell our grandchildren."
I let out a short, surprised laugh, my eyes flying to his.
"Too soon?" he teased. "Anyway, now that I've gotten to know you a little better, you don't seem like the kind of person who went to college in order to professionally date and write about it in possible perpetuity."
"Funny you'd ask," I said, taking a final bite of my salmon and dabbing at my mouth with the fine-woven white napkin. "I am supposed to be writing for
the Washington Post, or at least the Inquirer. Covering elections and local issues. I'm a poli-sci major. Big political geek."
"Is that right?" His eyebrows curved up in pleasant surprise.
I nodded. "I could give you a run-down of the most likely candidates for the upcoming presidential election, from their voting records to where they're most likely to land on their party's platform. The ultimate goal is to be a communications director for one of those elections, help win it, and then become the Press Secretary."
"Like C.J. Cregg," he said.
"Yes!" I screeched. "You watch the West Wing?"
"I watched it, yeah," he laughed. "Loved the characters, got lost in the plot, but I'm never opposed to re-watching it. CJ was hot. In a way."
This was the moment. He liked something I loved. A connection, something that we could talk about for hours before slipping into more personal conversations, then something more. Just like Jordan and I had. Well, sort of like we had. Here he was, Mr. Perfect, proof that Jordan wasn't the only guy I could make a connection with.
Except... I still didn't feel a damn thing, outside of polite detachment. Nate might as well have been a statue or a painting I was eyeing at a distance. He was beautiful, even a little interesting, certainly valuable. But I had zero interest in actually taking him home.
"So... I'm confused," he said, interrupting my thoughts. "CJ Cregg never wrote for Cosmo, right? Because it seems like this whole dating experiment thing would be right at home there."
"Cosmo would be a serious upgrade right about now,” I said. “Anyhow, in the show, she did publicity for a variety of smarmy actors before getting her gig with the President. You've gotta pay your dues, and I guess these are mine. Turns out I just had lofty expectations. I'm only twenty-three, with almost no journalism experience. My dad is an editor in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, and the only gig I could get was editing other peoples’ work and writing my own quirky yet insignificant column in the lifestyle section. Now, don't get me wrong. I was smart enough to spin it into something bigger and better. But at this point in my career, this is as good as it gets.”
Just Down the Hall Page 24
