He nods as the light changes and the crowd of people shuffle forward together, taking us up in a wave of momentum.
When we reach the steps in Pier Plaza, there’s almost nowhere to sit. Friday night sunset-watching is very popular in the summer. I usually get here at least a half hour early on the weekends.
“We’re late,” my new partner says as we approach. He bolts off to the right, tugging me behind him as he goes. And then he finds a seat for us, squished up against a pillar. He sits down first and I look dubiously at the small space left for me. He pats his knee. “Sit, Harper.”
He draws me towards him until I plop down in his lap.
As if I had a choice?
When he wraps his arms around me and leans against the concrete pillar, I tense up immediately. I’m just not sure how I’m supposed to act right now.
He leans into my neck. “Relax,” he says softly.
“I can’t help it,” I say back. “I don’t even know your name and you’re hugging me in public like we’re engaged or something.”
“Later, Harper. Just enjoy the show. It’s about to start.”
I give in. He makes me want to give in. And the inner independent and strong-willed girl inside me wants to object.
But I don’t. Because I like it. He feels so familiar. He feels like an old friend instead of a stranger. For the first time in over a year, I feel safe. And since the one lesson I learned early was that safety was a gift, I decide to accept it.
I lean back against his chest and I feel our heartbeats. Mine, then his. Then mine, then his. And after a while of this, they beat together. Everyone around us is talking and joking. Babies cry. Skaters do tricks off the wall on the other side of the bike path. But we remain quiet. Our world is slow and satisfying.
The fiery orange ball of flames dips to the horizon and everything darkens. And then, like the sun was taking its time crossing the sky the entire day but is suddenly in the biggest hurry, it disappears.
People clap and kids cheer. They do this every night. Some of them I even recognize, that’s how regular they are at the sunsets.
I spy an older woman I see all the time, looking at me. She shoots me an approving wink and I blush. She thinks this stranger and I are together. And why wouldn’t she? I’m sitting in his lap, his arms are hugging my waist, my head is resting against his chest. Our hearts beating in synchronicity.
We remain like this until everyone around us drifts away. “Now?” I ask.
“Do you want my real name? My associate name? Or my fake name?”
“All of them,” I say through a long yawn.
“Just one tonight. Pick.”
I have a very bad feeling about this. “And the associate name is…?”
“A code.”
Oh. This is great. “What kind of code?” I already know, but I ask anyway because I need to be absolutely sure.
“For what I do. A calling card, so they know it’s me.”
“I have one of those too.”
His chest rumbles with a laugh. “I bet you do.”
“Do you want to know what it is?”
“First mine, then yours. Pick.”
“Real name.”
“James Fenici.”
“James,” I repeat in a whisper. “I like James.”
“I like Harper.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“I’m only eighteen.”
“I know.”
He knows. Hmmm. But the look on his face as my age hangs between us captures my full attention. “Does it bother you?” He waits a few heartbeats before answering and this is my clue that yes, it does bother him. “It doesn’t bother me,” I add.
Fingertips guide my chin so my head turns towards him and then his mouth is on mine, his tongue probing, asking me to open, I do open. And this time I touch my tongue to his. He flicks against it and it feels… so good.
He ends the kiss and stands up, holding me in his arms for a moment before setting me down. “It doesn’t bother me either, but you’re tired. So I’ll walk you home.”
He holds my hand again, changing sides when we get to the highway, putting himself between me and the traffic like a gentleman. But we finish our walk to my building in silence. When we get to the wooden gate we stop so he can pull the rope and open the latch. “What’s your code name, Harper?” He looks over his shoulder at me, like he feels guilty for asking.
I stare at him, suddenly uneasy. Is this a trap? “You want to know this because you have a target?” It’s a bold question, but justified. If he’s here to kill me, I’d like to know. Even if he is wavering on whether or not to fulfill his contract.
“You’re not my target, OK?” But he doesn’t look me in the face when he says it.
“You first then.”
He smiles and holds the gate open for me and we walk down the path to the building, then head downstairs. I get my key out and I’m about to push it inside the lock when his hand rests on mine.
“Tet,” he says. “My code name is Tet.”
I look up at his face to try and figure out what he’s thinking. “Why did you tell me that?”
“What’s yours?” he asks, ignoring my question.
“You’re here for me, aren’t you?”
He shakes his head. “No, I swear it. I’m not here for you. But I need to know where you fit in. Code name?”