I decide to just focus on what’s around me rather than the war going on inside my head.
“Elena would love this,” I say out loud without thinking.
“Elena?” Jay asks.
Oh man, I so hate my mouth right now.
“My sister,” I say, after trying to figure out how I could explain it away but then settling on the truth.
He just nods and doesn’t ask follow-up questions. Crisis averted.
“Come on,” he says, standing up, and I follow suit. “Time to look over the edge.”
“Do we have to?” I say, refusing to move, even when I feel the pressure of his hand on my back as he tries to guide me over to the side. I don’t want to ruin this magical place by looking over the stupid edge and realizing we aren’t in our own oasis but rather eleven stories off the ground.
“Come on, Liza,” he says. “You can do it.”
I let out a long exhale. Jay moves his hand from my back and uses it to grab mine. My stomach does a somersault, and my hormones sigh in unison. His hand feels soft but manly at the same time. And quite large compared to mine. I feel all feminine and girly.
He pulls me just slightly, and I acquiesce with only a little resistance. He walks me to the space in between two of the stone planter boxes and stands next to the cement railing that comes up to about midwaist. He looks over, my hand still in his.
“Have a look,” he says. “It’s not that scary.”
“Easy for you to say,” I say and give him pouty lips. “You’re not scared of heights.”
“Or germs,” he adds with a half smile.
And other things, I think to myself. I’m glad I didn’t let it all hang out in the beginning or he would know what a nutcase I really am. Better to not let your freak flag wave too high. Or maybe it’s better to put it all out there so they know what they’re getting into from the get-go. Too late for that now, I guess.
I inch closer to the ledge and peek over the top. Below us is a street. I can’t even orient myself to figure out what street it is. I’m pretty sure it’s Fifth Avenue, but I’ve never been any good at directions—right, left, north, south—none of it. I can see quite a few people walking around looking at shops. Groups of tourists together, couples holding hands, small gatherings of people—maybe family, maybe friends—out for a drink. If I focus on that, it’s not so bad. If I focus on the fact that if Jay pushes me over right now, I would pretty much go splat all over the ground, that’s when I feel a throbbing sensation in my head as my heart rate picks up speed, making my face flush and red-hot heat spread through my limbs.
“You’re safe,” Jay says to me. He lets go of my hand and hooks his around my waist and pulls me into him. I take in a shaky breath. I am safe. I am safe.
I. Am. Safe.
Nope. I’m not convincing myself. I better go back to looking around at what’s below me so I don’t picture my body splattered on the ground below. Which is just the loveliest picture. I really and truly need therapy.
“Look over there,” Jay says, pointing down and to my right. My eyes follow, and I see street performers dancing to music I can barely hear.
“And there.” He points farther down the street. A crowd exiting Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, probably leaving after mass.
With Jay’s arm around my waist and me focusing on other things from this view, my heart slows just the slightest bit. But it’s enough. We stand in silence, his arm still around me, our bodies close together. Of course, now that I’m fixating on his proximity, my heart starts to pick up again.
“So what do you think?” he asks quietly, turning his head toward me.
“I think it’s not so bad,” I say, facing him. He’s even closer than I thought.
Our eyes lock, and it’s as if everything around us—the hustle and bustle of the street below—has all paused. The only thing I can hear is our intertwining breaths. My stomach does a little twirl, and it feels like the whole world goes silent as his eyes travel down my face and to my lips. He leans in toward me. Only centimeters between us now. I can feel his breath on my lips, and my heart races with the thrill of it. Its thumping is drowning out the warning bells that are going off in my head.
A throat clears behind us and we both jump, Jay’s arm unhitching from my side, and without his grip keeping me upright, I fall right into a hedge.
“Time’s up,” says the employee that brought us up here.
Jay works to pull me from the bush, and I can’t help but start laughing at the absurdity of it all. Jay and me, almost lip-locking it up on a rooftop garden. Of course, it was rather romantic and all that. But seriously, what is going on with my brain? I don’t know Jay. Not that well, at least. I don’t kiss strangers. I wouldn’t even do seven minutes in heaven withRichie Staleyat a party in the eighth grade because, you know, germs. And I’ve known Richie my entire life. This whole thing is so not me.
“You okay?” Jay asks as he finally rights me, a smile on his face. I try to stifle my giggling, but then it comes out as a snort and sets us both laughing. Employee guy is not happy.
“Sorry,” Jay says to the man. He puts his hand on my back, and we follow our not-amused guide out of the garden.
