Chapter 2
“I want to help you,” Jay says from across the table at a café that we stopped into to get coffee. I also grabbed myself a small pastry because, in times of need, I’ve always found sugar to be my best comforter.
“Help me?” I question. “With what?”
“With your fear of heights,” he says.
“Are you a professional?” Good hell, that would totally be my luck to run into a shrink at the Empire State Building. Although who am I to complain about free mental health care, if that’s what he’s offering?
“Well, no. I’m an IT consultant, actually,” he says.
So not a therapist, then. Is it sad that I’m a little disappointed? I could use some brain-picking right now.
“Thanks, Jay, but there’s really no help for me,” I say and then take a sip of the hot coffee, feeling its warmth as it moves down my throat.
“Not according to Google,” he says with a quick lift of his brow.
“Google doesn’t have a degree in psychology,” I say. “And I think that’s what I need here.”
He chuckles at that. “But people that post on Google have degrees. Or they could be a bunch of posers.”
“Posers. That’s a good way to describe the internet.”
“Regardless, I have a plan,” he says with a twinkle in his eye. Or maybe that’s mischief. I wouldn’t know since I’ve only known Jay for like an hour.
“I don’t know,” I say, and then chew on the insides of my cheeks. A habit I’ve been trying desperately to quit. “Aren’t you here to see the sights? Do the tourist thing and all that? You only have one day. Why would you want to spend it trying to help me with my fear of heights?”
“I just do,” he says. “Anyway, I do have a list of things I want to see today. Touristy stuff. We can combine it. I promise no dark alleys,” he says, holding up his hands, palms facing me.
“I think you might be crazy,” I say, picking at a corner of my pastry.
“Maybe. But here’s how I see it. I’m all alone visiting a big city by myself, and you”—he gestures to me with is hand—“you look like you could be a good tour guide. Plus, I have so many more cheesy jokes I could tell you along the way.”
“You have more?”
“Loads of them,” he says, the overhead lights sparkling in his eyes.
I squint at him. I don’t know this guy. At all. Even having coffee with him right now is so not me that I’m starting to wonder if the altitude from the Empire State Building did something to my brain. But I also feel an odd connection to him. Like I’ve met him before. We did just share a very traumatic moment of my life. I wonder if experiencing trauma with someone brings you together.
“I don’t know,” I say again.
“How about in the name of taking chances?” Jay says, obviously seeing my thought process playing out on my face.
Take a chance on chance. Elena’s words immediately run through my mind. Now why would he even say that? Is her ghost here? Elena promised to haunt me after she died, but I didn’t really think she meant it.
“What’s your last name?” I ask, still mulling this “plan” over in my head and also keeping an eye out for a possible ghost sighting.
“Sanders. What’s yours?”
“Parker.”
“Liza Parker,” he says and then reaches a hand across the table. “Nice to meet you, officially.”
“Jay Sanders,” I say as I grab a hold of his hand and shake it—this time my hand is not so sweaty. “It’s nice to officially meet you as well.”
“So, Liza Parker, what’s your elevator pitch?” he asks, and I cough on the drink I just took. “Sorry, bad choice of words. Tell me about yourself in thirty seconds. You know, like what you would say to someone if you spent an elevator ride telling them about yourself.”
“As opposed to totally freaking out?”
