Not If I See You First(35)

“Okay.”

“Here, let’s go out the front, to your left.”

“Can I take your arm?” I hold out my hand. “It’ll be faster than caning.”

“Of course,” he says. His sleeve touches my fingers. Thin, smooth fabric… maybe a dress shirt of some kind.

“Also fancy,” I say. “Your shirt, I mean. Long sleeves and cuffs.”

“Yeah, this being a special occasion. I even showered today.”

“Thanks!” I say, starting to feel more at ease. “It’s true what they say about blind people developing stronger other senses. My nose would tell me if you were lying.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Parker,” he says, and he really says it, not just playing. It warms me. I can almost believe this is going to work out.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

I remember he made me promise something, too, when we first met. I promised him I’d never run at night, a promise I broke only three days later after I dreamed about Scott.





For the next five minutes he talks about his job, prompted by a question I asked but already forget. Something stupid like, “So what do you do besides carry shoes in and out of the back room?” I’m only half listening to him describing the logistics of tidying up shelves and displays, stuff like that—I’m not dreamy-eyed enough to find that interesting. Plus, I’m distracted wondering where we’re going since there isn’t any parking at the front of the mall where we’re heading.

I can’t take it anymore. “Are we going to walk there? The parking lot’s the other way.”

“Oh, they don’t let employees park there. We have to park in another lot. I don’t usually take the shuttle, but I figured… well, I mean, we can walk there if you want to. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay, we can ride. It’s not like I don’t get enough exercise.”

We get to the curb just as the shuttle does, and after some stair navigation fun and games, we’re sitting on the bench seat at the back of a smallish bus. For whatever reason the driver has the AC on max and it’s freezing, but I don’t hug myself because I don’t want Jason to feel bad.

“You cold?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” I say, surprising myself again.

“I don’t have a coat or I’d let you have it. I didn’t know these buses were so cold.”

“It’s okay.”

Something touches my shoulder, the one away from Jason, and I jump, startled, and I really jump because my muscles are tense from the cold—my arms fly up and my forearm bounces off Jason’s nose but thankfully I don’t squeal. My heart pounds as I realize Jason was putting his arm around me.

“Sorry!” I blurt out. “Sorry, I…”

“No, no,” he says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, it’s okay! It’s… it’s okay…”

The bus bounces us around a bit; I can feel his arms down at his sides. I want him to try again but I’m not going to ask.

“Really, it’s okay,” I say.

“Don’t worry—soon we’ll be in my car instead of this refrigerator.”

“Okay.”

Silence. No arm around my shoulder. An unnecessary reminder that Rule Number Two is as much for me as everyone else.

We stop after a couple minutes. With a little more help from Jason than I need, I leave the bus and his car isn’t far. It’s a short drive to the restaurant that we spend by him asking me what food I like to eat, which seems strange to be asking now after he’s picked a restaurant and won’t tell me what it is. I give vague answers—I don’t want to say I don’t like sushi if we’re headed for a sushi bar—and I can tell this frustrates him but I’d rather be safe.

“Surprise!” he says, pulling into a parking lot. “We’re at Andino’s.”

“Okay, cool,” I say, trying to sound enthusiastic. The surprise value of not knowing the restaurant till we got here is lost for the very reason I knew it would be; Jason telling me now is no different from telling me at the mall a half hour ago. You can’t blindfold someone, lead them somewhere, and then have a surprise moment if they never take the blindfold off.

Now I understand why he wasn’t loving my answers to his food quiz. I hadn’t mentioned Italian food. I like it fine but it’s messy and seldom my first choice.

We’re seated immediately and from what I can hear around me the reservations weren’t necessary. That’s okay.

Jason says, “I called around but couldn’t find a restaurant with braille menus.”

I bite my tongue. If he’d asked me I could have told him a half dozen good restaurants with braille menus. That’s the price you pay for surprises. I’m torn between feeling special that he’s trying to do romantic things and me not really liking them much. But how was he to know?

Exactly. How was he to know? He doesn’t know anything about me.

“So… how hungry are you?” he asks. His voice is strong, like he’s goofing a little. Does he know I ate recently?

“Medium.”

“Okay. Would you care for soup, salad, appetizers, or garlic bread?”