“So what we’re really missing out on,” Cath said as they bent together over a sign, “is a variety of native grasses.”
“And wildflowers,” Levi said. “We’re also missing the wildflowers.”
She stepped away from him, and he took her hand. “Wait,” he said. “I think there might be an evergreen over there—”
Cath looked up.
“False alarm,” he said, squeezing her hand.
She shivered.
“Are you cold?”
She shook her head.
He squeezed her hand again. “Good.”
They didn’t talk about any more of the flowers they were missing as they finished their loop through the Gardens. Cath was glad she wasn’t wearing gloves; Levi’s palm was smooth, almost slick, against her own.
They walked over a pedestrian bridge, and she felt her arm pull. He’d stopped to lean against the trusses.
“Hey. Cath. Can I ask you something?”
She stopped and looked back at him. He took her other hand and pulled her closer—not against him or anything, just closer—fingers crossing like they were about to play London Bridge.
Levi was a black-and-white photograph in the dark. All pale skin, gray eyes, streaky hair …
“Do you really think I just go around kissing people all the time?” he asked.
“Sort of,” Cath said. She tried to ignore the fact that she could feel every single one of his fingers. “Up until about a month ago, I thought you were kissing Reagan all the time.”
“How could you think that? She’s seeing, like, five other guys.”
“I thought you were one of them.”
“But I was always flirting with you.” He pushed Cath’s hands forward for emphasis.
“You flirt with everything.” She could tell that her eyes were popping—her eyeballs actually felt cold around the edges. “You flirt with old people and babies and everybody in between.”
“Oh, I do not.…” He tucked his chin into his neck indignantly.
“You do so,” she said, pushing his hands back. “That night at the bowling alley? You flirted with every human being in the building. I’m surprised the shoe guy didn’t give you his number.”
“I was just being nice.”
“You’re extra nice. With everyone. You go out of your way to make everyone feel special.”
“Well, what’s wrong with that?”
“How is anyone supposed to know that they are special? How was I supposed to know you weren’t just being nice?”
“You can’t see that I’m different with you?”
“I thought I could. For like twelve hours. And then … For all I know, yeah, you do go around kissing people. Just to be nice. Because you have this weird thing where you get off on making people feel special.”
Levi winced, his chin almost flat against his neck. “I’ve been hanging around your room, and inviting you to parties, and just trying to be there whenever you might need anything for four months. And you didn’t even notice.”
“I thought you were dating my roommate!” she said. “And I repeat, you’re nice to everybody. You give away nice like it doesn’t cost you anything.”
Levi laughed. “It doesn’t cost me anything. It’s not like smiling at strangers exhausts my overall supply.”
“Well, it does mine.”
“I’m not you. Making people happy makes me feel good. If anything, it gives me more energy for the people I care about.”
Cath had been trying to maintain eye contact through all this, like a grown-up human being, but it was getting to be too much—she let her eyes skitter down to the snow. “If you smile at everyone,” she said, “how am I supposed to feel when you smile at me?”
He pulled their hands toward him, up, so they were practically over his shoulders. “How do you feel when I smile at you?” he asked—and then he did smile at her, just a little.
Not like myself, Cath thought.
She gripped his hands tightly, for balance, then stood on tiptoe, leaning her chin over his shoulder and brushing her head gently against his cheek. It was smooth, and Levi smelled heavy there, like perfume and mint.
“Like an idiot,” she said softly. “And like I never want it to stop.”
*
They sat next to each other on the shuttle, looking down at their hands because it was too bright on the bus to look at each other’s faces. Levi didn’t talk, and Cath didn’t worry about why not.
When they got back to her room, they both knew it was empty, and they both had keys.
Levi unwrapped her scarf and pulled her forward by the tails, briefly pressing his face into the top of her head.
“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,” he said.
*
He meant it.
He came to see her the next day. And the next. And after a week or so, Cath just expected Levi to insinuate himself into her day somehow. And to act like it had always been that way.
He never said, Can I see you tomorrow? Or, Will I see you tomorrow? It was always When? and Where?