In my peripheral vision I see people moving up in the line, so I turn around and take a few steps to catch up. Every step gets me closer—closer to checking off something on Elena’s bucket list. I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to complete one. A terrible bucket list fulfiller, that’s what I am. She should’ve asked someone else. Only there wasn’t anyone else to ask. My parents are both scared of everything, like me.
“So how many times have you been to the city?” Brown-eyed Guy asks from behind me. I guess he’s not giving up on me. I’m honestly surprised I haven’t scared him away yet.
“I don’t really know,” I say as I spin around to face him. “Quite a few times. I grew up about three hours from here.”
“Really?” he asks, giving me a once-over as if he doesn’t believe me. Maybe I don’t look like a New York native today, with my cutoff jean shorts, T-shirt, Converse, and the black cross-body bag over my left shoulder. My goal was comfort. Comfortable enough to run away from this building as fast as I could, if I somehow talked myself out of going up. No such luck.
“Yep,” I say. “Born and raised.”
“A native New Yorker.” He bobs his head toward me, a small smile perched on his lips. Some of his straight brown hair falls into his eyes, and he pushes it back with his hand. His hair is dark. Darker than mine ... darker than Elena’s.
“So what made you come today if you hate heights so much?” he asks as we move forward in the line, walking next to each other.
“Just trying something new,” I say simply.
He looks at me for longer than a few seconds, as if to read between the lines of what I’m saying. Not like he could know any of it, though. The promise, the bucket list, Elena. Unless he’s a mind reader, in which case, I hope he’s enjoying the view. I’m what Elena always called “a special kind of special.”
“I can respect that,” he finally says.
“So what brings you here?” I ask, now wanting to keep up the conversation because it’s helping pass the time and also keeping me from thinking of the task at hand (elevator and subsequent looking down from a zillion feet in the sky). He’s also a rather nice view, if I’m being honest.
“I’m here on a layover on my way to London,” he says. “I only have a day.”
“Work or play?”
“Both, actually.”
“You’re by yourself?”
“Yep,” he says. “Just me.”
We move up in the line, closer to the elevators. With the doors in my line of vision, I’m starting to feel my heart rate pick up again, and the room is suddenly fifty degrees warmer. Why did Elena want me to go all the way to the top? If I just stayed on this floor—the eighty-sixth floor—I could’ve looked over the side by now and have been down the elevator and on solid ground. Surely that would count? I’m already in line, though. I might as well just get this over with.
“I’m Jay,” he says, holding out his hand to shake mine.
“Liza,” I say, but don’t return the gesture. “My hands are a little sweaty; I’m not sure you want to shake them.”
His lips pull up into a half smile, his hand still out. “I’ll take my chances.”
“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
His hand feels warm in mine, and his grip is strong, with genuine feeling—none of those dead-fish handshakes here. And there go my hormones again. My already-racing pulse picks up a couple of beats.
“Oh yeah, you’re right. Gross,” he says, taking his hand away from mine, his face contorting into something resembling disgust, and wiping it on his shorts.
“Sorry!” I say, rubbing both my hands on my cutoffs, feeling utterly repulsive. “I did warn you.”
“Kidding,” he says, as a smile spreads across his face.
“Wow, you’re kind of a jerk, aren’t you?” I retort, trying to suppress a smile, unsuccessfully.
The line moves up and my smile dissipates. We’re getting closer.
Jay clears his throat, and my eyes dart away from the elevators and back to his face. Yes, I should focus on that face.
“So did you hear about the restaurant on the moon?” he asks, his face taking on a more serious expression.
“Huh?” My eyebrows furrow.
