“It’s all consolation,” he said, his eyes running all over my face like he still couldn’t take everything in.
Then his eyes came back to look into mine—and stayed there. And it didn’t feel uncomfortable to look into them. It felt good. And so we gazed at each other as we waited for it all to make sense.
It was crazy. It was impossible.
And yet here we were. Standing at the rim of this realization like it was the Grand Canyon—astonished and breathless and awestruck. I could see him breathing deep, and then I realized I was, too. We’d had the story all wrong. And it might take some time to put it right.
One thing was clear: He was here right now, and so was I.
And we were both so glad to be wrong.
Was he leaning closer to me or was I leaning closer to him? Somehow our faces were just inches away from each other. My hand slid down to rest against his chest.
“Sadie,” Joe said then, “I noticed you from the start. Since that day I carried all those canvases up to the rooftop for you.”
“Thank you for that, by the way.”
“But it really got real,” Joe went on, his mouth so close to mine it was just a swoon away, “when I saw your Smokey Robinson impression in the grocery store.”
That broke the trance. Hold on. “What?”
Joe nodded.
“That was you? You bought me that cheap wine?”
“You owe me eighteen bucks. Plus tax.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why would it occur to me to tell you?”
“But the night I told you about the Good Samaritan. You must have realized I didn’t remember you. But you didn’t say anything.”
“It was awkward at that point. Besides, you were having a moment.”
“Were you”—it was all clicking into place now—“the one who pushed me out of the crosswalk?”
Joe nodded. “Of course.”
All I could do was repeat. “Of course?”
“You were walking away as it happened.”
“And what were you doing?”
“Me? I was checking you out.”
It had been Joe? In the crosswalk that night? “You saw me freeze—and then you ran into the street to save me?”
“Well, yeah. You were about to get killed.”
“But you could have been killed!”
“I didn’t really weigh the pros and cons.”
“You saved me?”
“Nick of time. We were moving so fast, we tripped on a hunk of asphalt at the curb. But I cushioned your fall.”
“Is that how you hit the lamppost?” I tapped my own shoulder. “Your scar?”
Joe reached around to rub the scar on his shoulder like he’d forgotten. “Yeah. Scraped it on a bolt. Ten stitches.”
“So you went to the hospital, too?”
Joe nodded. “Later that night. And then I wandered around the halls to find you and make sure you were okay.”
Joe hadn’t just rescued me. He’d saved my life.
For a minute, all I could do was shake my head.
Then I finally said, “You were the Good Samaritan, too.” No wonder he didn’t look like a stranger.
Joe nodded.
“How is it possible,” I said, gazing at the sight of him in wonder, “that you were everywhere? All along?”
Joe shrugged. “You can’t see when you’re not looking, I guess.” Then he tightened his hold on my gaze. “Anyway. You’re the one who was everywhere.”
It was nonsense, but I knew exactly what he meant.
At that, I grabbed hold of his tie, pulled him down close to me, and pressed my mouth to his.
The second we touched, his arms came around my rib cage and clamped tight, and mine rose up around his neck and did the same thing. I cradled the back of his head with my hands as he ran his over me—back, shoulders, neck, hair. All arms and hands and exploring and holding on.
Both of us just drunk on the bliss of being in each other’s arms at last.
After a few minutes, he paused, breathless, to meet my eyes. “I really need to thank you for leaving that voicemail.”
I met his right back. “I really need to thank you for saving my life.”
* * *
WHEN WE FINALLY walked back to the party, it was winding down.
Daniel was still there, and when he caught sight of us, rumpled, wind-blown, clearly together, secretly holding hands … he gave me a nod of appreciation, like, Mission accomplished.
Mr. and Mrs. Kim waved good night at us from their table, as if they already understood everything that had happened and were sending me their full approval.
But Sue wanted details. She walked up to us and put her hands on her hips. “Where’ve you two been?”
“Oh,” I said, waving absently toward our personal corner, “just over there.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You look suspiciously happy.”
Joe coughed. I smiled and looked down.
“What’s going on there?” she asked, pointing at our clasped hands.
We broke them apart, like we’d been caught.
“What just happened?” Sue asked. “Did you two—? Are you two—? Hey, I know it’s very pretty and romantic up here, but—”
“Funny story,” I jumped in before she got too outraged at the notion of me just giving in to a man who had cruelly ghosted me. “And this is going to sound so crazy…”
“Nothing could be crazier than what’s going through my head right now,” Sue said.
“Wanna bet?” Joe said.
“Remember,” I said, “how I was totally crushing on my veterinarian, but then he stood me up for our first date and then I wound up—how to put it—transferring my affections to Joe from the building?”
“Yes,” Sue said, like, Hurry up and get to the point.
“Turns out,” I said, “as impossible as it sounds…”
Sue put a hand on her hip, like, Move it along.
“They’re the same guy.”
Sue froze. Then she shook her head.
So I nodded mine, trying to help her get there. “The dashing veterinarian, whose face I couldn’t see … and the douchey guy in the building—”
“Hey!” Joe protested.
“Whose face I also couldn’t see…”
I let Sue catch up. “Were the same guy?” she finished for me.
Joe and I nodded at her. Then he grabbed the moment to take my hand again.
“How is that possible?” Sue asked, still shaking her head.
“My brain’s been a little wonky lately,” I said with a shrug.
“This isn’t wonky,” Sue said. “This is…” But then she didn’t know what it was.
“Dr. Nicole kept warning me about stuff like this,” I said. “About how the five senses really work together, and if one of them is suddenly altered, it can throw your whole perceptual game off for a while, especially if you throw in our human love affair with confirmation bias.”
I was gearing up to do a whole TED Talk, but Sue was pulling out her phone. “What’s the vet’s name?” she demanded as she started googling.
“Dr. Oliver Addison,” Dr. Oliver Addison supplied.
“Are you googling him?” I asked.
“What’s more likely?” Sue said, scrolling. “That you thought one person was two fully different people—or that this guy…”—she gestured with her phone—“is some kind of scammer trying to lure you into his sex dungeon?”
“Likely?” I started.