Alex arranges to meet me in the middle of Central Park at lunch the next day, which is thankfully enough time for me to blow-dry my hair, slap on a home facial, and go get Vilma the evil witch of the West Village to wax me into shape again. Still, as I loiter by the ice-cream truck in my best vintage sundress, I’m wondering if I should just turn around and run. I mean, could I really have a fun date when I know the only reason he called is because of the stupid bounty?
“Lizzie?”
I turn. Hello. “Alex, hi.”
“God, it’s been so long. What, five, six years?”
“Don’t, you’ll make me feel old!” I groan, and he laughs. Just like that, the years slip away, and I relax again.
He kisses me on the cheek. He’s just as gorgeous as I remember, with those penetrating green eyes I used to lie in my tiny dorm bed and dream about. He’s cut his dark hair that used to messily hit just at his collarbone, but his beat-up leather jacket is still intact—though he turns up on foot, not on a Harley, which momentarily shatters my biker chick fantasies of the two of us riding off into the sunset.
“I sold that a while ago,” he tells me, as we walk towards the Sheep Meadow, a flat expanse of grass where sunbathers lie out on towels clad in tiny bikinis and kids play Frisbee in the warm light. “When I was teaching English overseas. Thailand. Best experience of my life,” he adds.
Take that, Jake, I silently cheer. Smart and self-sacrificing.
“What are you up to now?” I ask. The smell of hot dogs and popcorn is in the air, and I feel optimistic for what feels like the first time in just about forever. Even the birds are singing high up in the trees overhead, which I take as some kind of good omen.
“I’m an environmental lawyer, of all things, but I’m thinking of maybe someday starting a charter school in the Bronx.”
“Seriously?” I ask, impressed, and he nods. “Wow. That’s really admirable.”
“I think it’s important to give back,” he says, looking sincere.
“Oh, definitely!” I agree.
“You haven’t changed, you know,” he says with a smile, giving me a sidelong look. “Still as pretty as ever.”
I flush at the compliment and try to maintain my composure. “Thanks,” I say, as we continue to walk across the meadow. At the far end I see a brightly colored hot-air balloon, with a guy tinkering with the fastenings.
“Great.” Alex waves over. “We’re all ready to go.”
My mouth falls open. “Is that for us?”
He smiles again, reaching down and taking my hand. “You game?” he asks.
Eek. So, it’s pretty well established at this point that I’m not great with heights. In fact, next to flying on a plane, a hot-air balloon ride is basically my worst nightmare. But he’s gone through a lot of trouble to arrange this, obviously, and it is super romantic, that’s for sure. If I just don’t look down, I’m sure I’ll be fine, right?
Famous last words.
But before I can answer him, my phone starts buzzing in my bag, and when I see who it is, my stomach dips. Jake’s name is lit up on the screen. I don’t know how he does it—it’s like he has some secret radar that lets him know when I’m about to have a good time, just so he can come along and ruin it.
“I’m so sorry,” I say to Alex apologetically. “I have to take this—it’s work.”
“No problem,” he says. “I’ll make sure we’re all set to go.”
“Hey, it’s me,” Jake says when I finally pick up.
“What did I tell you?” I demand, annoyed that he’s finding a way to sneak back into my thoughts again. “You don’t speak to me unless it’s a super-massive emergency. I’m hanging up—”
“Wait!” he says quickly. “Don’t! It’s about work.” I can hear what sounds like a rustling of paper on his end. “I’ve got the shipping info for the pieces from Danforth’s collection.”
“We could’ve talked about this at the office,” I point out, watching as Alex strikes up a conversation with the guy who’s untying the ropes of the balloon. “I was there all day.”
“Look, Lizzie.” I hear him sigh. “I’m really sorry, and I can understand if you’re angry with me.”
“I’m not angry,” I say, trying to sound upbeat. “I mean, I should really be thanking you for opening up my eyes to this amazing opportunity. I have guys lining up to date me. I’m actually on one right now!”
There’s a pause. “But, Lizzie, you can’t be serious.” Jake sounds pissed. “You know they only want one thing.”
“Like you can judge,” I snap back. “So, I decided what the hell. I’m finally dating like I always wanted to! In fact, I’m about to get into a hot-air balloon right now. So I really do have to go.”
“A hot-air balloon?” Jake laughs. “Lizzie, you can’t even—”
“And then I have another date after this one,” I say triumphantly, walking towards Alex with a smile. “So I can’t talk. Bye!” I say before he can respond, pushing the END button on my phone and turning it off completely.
Next thing I know, I’m standing in the wicker basket of the hot-air balloon, trying not to lose my shit. The flames above turn off and on as the balloon begins to lift off the ground. Alex grabs a bottle of champagne from the guy operating the ride, and he opens it with a flourish, the popping of the cork drowned out by the hiss of the flames above. He pours the champagne into two glasses and hands me one.
“To reconnecting,” he says warmly, clinking his glass on mine.
“Uh huh.” I take a sip. I try to concentrate on the bubbles tickling my nose and the taste of the champagne, but there’s a familiar feeling in my stomach, the rolling and tumbling that happens any time I’m up in the sky instead of down on the ground where I belong, and I take a deep breath, trying to look anywhere but over the side of the basket or up into the huge expanse of blue sky that suddenly seems to be all around us.
“So, tell me more about what you’ve been up to since college,” Alex asks, leaning over the side of the basket in a way that makes me want to grab him by his belt loops and pull him back to safety. A wave of nausea comes over me, and I take another quick sip of champagne, willing my stomach to settle down.
“Well.” I try to smile through my queasiness. “After college I worked a couple of retail jobs before I got my break at the Met.” I try not to notice that we’re now looking down on the treetops, and all I can think about is the fact that if this balloon crashes, I’ll likely be impaled on a collection of extremely spiky branches. I pull some air into my lungs and try to smile again through a sudden wave of nausea, my stomach lurching violently. “And then I—”
I stop mid-sentence and close my eyes for a second, reaching out for the side of the basket to steady myself.
“Hey,” Alex asks. “Are you okay?”
“Uh huh!” I squeak, tasting bile in the back of my throat.
Oh, no. Not now. You will NOT vomit all over this nice young socially-conscious man.