Chapter Five
“I gotta say,” says JM, looking up at Evan while he’s prone on the bench press, “you really know how to make an impression.”
At the gym the following morning, Evan and JM meet up for their usual workout. At this hour, the place is packed, full of sounds of clanging iron plates and up-tempo pop music and the whine of the blender making protein smoothies.
Standing behind JM, Evan spots him as he starts his reps, breathing in and out with each press on the bar, but Evan’s thoughts are still at the recreation center yesterday. “I’m such an ass.”
JM laughs but it comes out like a hiss as the veins in his neck start popping out. “You aren’t—ugh—an ass.” His words are strained. Comic-Con is months away, but it’s never too early to start beefing up for the right look. “You just—hff—messed—hng—up.”
“That’s ten,” Evan says, and JM heaves the bar back into place, and they switch. Evan plops down on the bench. “Dalisay probably already thinks I’m an ass, though. Good thing I’m not actually trying to date her. That ship has sailed.”
“You seem to really care a lot about her opinion of you.” JM pauses for a moment, then asks, “You sure this is about a bet?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Never mind. Don’t overthink it.” He slaps the bar. “Quit slacking. Ten reps, go.”
Dalisay is the first thing Evan sees when he walks into the kitchen at Overnight. She’s got her back turned to him, but she looks over her shoulder when she hears him come in. A flush threatens to creep its way up his neck, but he tamps it back down as he walks toward her.
She’s making herself a cup of mango green tea and offers Evan a tea bag, which he accepts gladly. She doesn’t seem mad about what happened at the birthday party at least.
“So, did I pass the first stage?” he asks as he pours some still-hot kettle water into his mug.
Dalisay brings her own mug to her lips without taking a sip and instead gently blows on her tea. “Technically yes, the teasing of friends did occur.”
Evan smiles. “And you thought I’d back down.”
“That remains to be seen. You’ve barely even started.”
“Whatever you’ve got, bring it.”
Dalisay’s eyes sparkle and her lips part into a wider smile. She sets the mug down and levels her shoulders. “Stage Two is the Presentation of Gifts.”
Evan lets out a laugh. “For real?”
“Flowers, notes, little things. Think Valentine’s Day but all week, starting next Monday.”
“What, you think I’m made of money?”
“I’m giving you five chances to impress me.” She tips her head back to look down her nose at him. “Or are you giving up?”
Evan drags his teeth over his bottom lip and grins. “Joke’s on you. I’m an unbelievable gift giver,” he says.
“We’ll see.”
Evan shakes his head and laughs. This was starting to sound like bribery. “Okay, Ramos. You better be prepared to have your socks knocked off.”
“Socks better not be one of the gifts.”
“They aren’t now.”
“Impress me,” she says again. Her nose wrinkles when she smiles wider and Evan’s heart thumps. She moves to leave but pauses. “Oh, and I looked over your article for the holiday rollout. I sent you some notes on it. You might want to review before you send it to print.”
“You edited my article?”
“I saw it in the shared submission folder and noticed there were some errors, so I made the appropriate changes, and gave you some suggestions on your next pass. You can thank me later.”
A pang of annoyance shoots through him. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“Is it a problem?”
Heat rises on Evan’s cheeks as he lies. “No.”
Dalisay turns and dips her chin into her shoulder as she shrugs. It would be adorable if Evan wasn’t so flustered.
Before work the following Monday morning, Evan makes a quick stop at a boutique near the office called Gifts he’d recognize the blue papers hanging on the ceiling anywhere.
Lavender hand lotion and a cute ceramic tissue box shaped like a pineapple and a small, mason jar terrarium make the space downright homey. All her paperwork and notes are meticulously organized, not even a pencil out of alignment.
So this is where she corrects his articles, cutting through his ego with a simple click of Track Changes. The more he gets to know her, the more it feels like they’re on opposite teams, vying to score the first point. Evan is determined not to let her get under his skin so easily.
He sets the stuffed bear down on her chair, situating it so it looks like it’s typing on her keyboard, and ties the balloons to the armrest so they don’t float away. Propped up on her keyboard, he places the card.
On it, he’d written:
I hope we’re not polar opposites! —Evan
He didn’t need to write a note, but he’d wanted to. From across the floor, he hears the elevator doors open and glances at his watch. She’ll be here any minute.
Evan crosses the floor, returning to his section, and shrugs off his jacket just as Riggs gets to his desk, the coffee Evan bought already waiting for him. “For me? You shouldn’t have!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Evan says, distractedly, unable to stop himself from glancing back at Dalisay’s desk.
“What are you doing here so early anyway?” Riggs asks.
Evan explains the parameters of Stage Two and Riggs spots the gifts at Dalisay’s desk. “Balloons? Really?”
“I wanted to go all out.” He keeps glancing toward Dalisay’s cubicle, wondering when she’ll arrive. He can’t wait to see what her reaction will be.
Riggs huffs a laugh into his coffee. “You have no imagination.”
Evan spreads his palms, baffled. “Yeah, okay, like you know anything about romance.”
“I know enough to know that won’t get you in her good graces.”
“I’m not trying to change her mind about me. If anything, I’m proving that this is a lot of work for one date.” Riggs laughs at that.
“And this is why you’re single. Which reminds me, I’ve got a new neighbor. Get this—she’s recently divorced, a Pilates instructor, and she has the cutest golden retriever puppy. Want me to set you up?”
“No thanks.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“You’re taking this bet really seriously.”
Evan screws up his face, about to ask him what’s wrong with that, but just then, he hears Dalisay’s ringing voice say good morning to the receptionist.
Here she comes.
Evan can’t help but watch as Dalisay navigates her way to her desk, smiling and greeting people as she goes.
When Dalisay reaches her desk, she pauses there, with a small, amused smile dimpling her cheeks. She looks around, and sees Evan standing there, still looking her way. What’s the point in hiding?
She raises a delicate eyebrow, and her smile grows wider.
Hiding his own smile, he raises his coffee to her as if to say Cheers.
Dalisay takes the balloons in one hand and the teddy bear in the other, his card pinched delicately between her index and middle finger like a cigarette, and starts walking toward the far wall.
She stops at a tall trash can next to the kitchen. With little ceremony, she shoves the bear into the trash, punching its large head through the opening, then uses her teeth to let the air out of the balloons one by one. Finally, she reads the card, lingers on it for a moment, then throws it in the trash with the rest.
She looks back at Evan and cocks her head, as if to say, Your move.
Naomi appears near the conference room and calls out to the floor. “Editorial meeting! Five minutes, people!”
The editors, including Dalisay, Riggs, and Evan, join her in the conference room but even after the meeting starts and Naomi has written ideas on the whiteboard for new articles, the only thing Evan can think about is Dalisay.
She sits across the conference table from him, listening dutifully as the senior members discuss assignments, but their voices become a monotonous drone in Evan’s ears.
She didn’t like his gifts. No, that’s not right. She hated them. He’s going to have to try a lot harder if he’s going to win the bet. Daniel and Nicole gave him some hints about what Dalisay likes, but those things now seem too predictable. She asked him to impress, so he needs to think bigger.
While the meeting goes on, he spends most of the hour googling different gift ideas, even going so far as to calculate shipping costs and delivery times. Only when the room goes oddly quiet does Evan snap back into his body. All eyes are on him. Oh God, someone said his name.
“What? Huh?”
Across the conference table, Dalisay rests her chin on her hand, watching him with wide, innocent eyes. She’s enjoying this.
He turns to look at Naomi at the front of the room, who holds her hands out expectantly. She is not a patient woman. Heat rushes to Evan’s face as he shifts in his seat and clears his throat. “Sorry, can you repeat that?” It’s like high school when he’d been caught reading a novel during math class.
“I said,” repeats Naomi, slowly, “I want you to take the lead on this next project.”
What this next project is, Evan doesn’t have a clue. His face burns but Riggs gives him a wink, signaling that he’s got him. Dalisay looks infuriatingly pleased with herself. Is she some kind of witch? Did she cast a spell on him? He loves this job more than anything in the world, but all he can think about is her.
Evan recovers and gives Naomi an easy smile. “Not a problem.”
Naomi snaps her fingers. “On second thought, I think you need some help.” Before he can assure Naomi he doesn’t, she says, “Dalisay, how about you two team up on this one.”
At the mention of her name, Dalisay’s smile drops. She sits up straighter in her chair, tearing her eyes away from Naomi to look at Evan. The way she’s acting, it’s as if Naomi asked her to leap off the roof.
“Sure,” Dalisay says, her cheeks turning a dark shade of pink. “Evan needs all the help he can get.”
Every day of the week, Evan tries again, and each time, he means to impress Dalisay. For real this time.
On Tuesday, he brings her truffles from Kokak Chocolates because Daniel said she has a sweet tooth.
On Wednesday, it’s a bouquet of lavender flowers from Rozgol’s, because of the lavender-scented lotion she uses.
On Thursday, he gives her a gourmet gift basket full of top-shelf tequila from Tahona Mercado because of the picture of her and her siblings at Otra on her desk.
And every single one of those days, he watches as she throws them all away, announcing her opinions to the office:
“Truffles are too rich,” she says.
“A bouquet of lavenders are a symbol of distrust,” she says.
“Tequila, before noon? No thanks,” she says. Riggs fishes it out of the trash can so he can have it for himself.
At this point, it’s starting to feel personal. Nothing’s stopping Dalisay from intentionally disapproving of his gifts. For all he knows, she’s doing it on purpose just so he’ll lose. And here he trusted she’d play fair too, but she has all the power.
Evan’s about ready to pull his hair out. It’s not about the bet at this point, it’s his pride. He always thought he was a good gift giver. He always pays attention to what his friends want or need. When his friends mention something, he actually remembers because he genuinely wants to make them happy. When he was dating Becca, he’d plan gifts months in advance, like tickets to a Broadway show on tour that she kept talking about. He isn’t the type to run to the corner store on an anniversary because he forgot.
But now, it’s as if Dalisay is proving how much she hates his guts. And she’s almost flaunting it.
There has to be something he remembers that she likes. There has to be.
But luck is still on his side, because Thursday night, he catches a break. Dalisay’s brother Daniel mentioned that she likes bookstores, and it just so happens that Heliotrope has a limited-edition scented candle that smells exactly like old books, with chai and a hint of citrus. Triple whammy. Evan saw it in a window display when he was leaving the gym with JM, and he practically burst through the glass like the Kool-Aid man to get the last one. The last time they’d had it in stock, he bought one for himself because it smells exactly like his favorite bookstore, Hooked On Books. If she hates this, there’s no hope. At least he’ll get to keep it when she throws it in the trash.
He leaves the final gift on her desk Friday morning, exactly as he’s been doing for the past week.
The note he wrote for her this time says:
Here’s to stories worth telling. —Evan
It feels appropriate. This is definitely a story he’ll be telling at dinner parties in the future.
This time when Dalisay sees his gift, she reads the note, taking a beat longer than usual, and Evan’s chest swells with hope.
She lifts the scented candle to her nose and takes a sniff. Her eyelids flutter and her shoulders drop. She sets the candle back down on her desk.
Evan grins. Finally.
When five o’clock rolls around that Friday, Evan is wiped from having written three articles this week, and his brain feels like mush. He’s just about ready to text JM asking what they want to eat during D she’s doing her best. Riggs offers to call the custodian and Evan picks up the coffee cups while Maggie rushes to the kitchen for paper towels. When she comes back, she’s red-cheeked and on the verge of a panic attack.
“You don’t have to help!” she says to Evan, her voice thick. “It’s my mess.”
“Please, let me. It’s the least I can do.” He takes one of the paper towels and wipes his face before using it on the floor. “You didn’t have to carry all this. You could have made a few trips.”
“I’m so sorry!” she says again. Maggie’s blush is bright.
“It’s okay, really. Next time you can take it slower. I promise, coffee isn’t that important.” He smiles at her, and she blushes even more furiously. Something in her purse on the floor catches his attention. It’s a Heliotrope candle.
A lump forms in Evan’s throat. “Um, Maggie. Where did you get that candle?”
Maggie looks at him, wide-eyed, then looks in her crocheted bag. “Oh! I didn’t steal it, I swear!”
Evan lets out a breathy laugh. “I didn’t think you did. I was just wondering.”
“I-I-It’s from Dalisay,” she stammers. “She wanted to thank me for all my hard work this week. I don’t think she knows how much I love these candles.”
“Yeah, me too,” he says, a little crestfallen. He had really hoped this gift would be the one she loved.
Once they’ve cleaned up what they could, and Maggie thanks him again profusely, he grabs his travel bag, the one he usually keeps under his desk for short-notice trips, and takes out a fresh shirt.
Before he goes to the bathroom to change, he makes a stop in the kitchen for some table salt, a hack he picked up when he spilled coffee all over his pants in the middle of a transatlantic flight, so he knows what to do before the stain sets.
But, as luck would have it, Dalisay is tidying up in the kitchen, reorganizing the tea bags. Of course, this day is getting better and better. He bites back a curse, but she hears him come in, and her eyes nearly bug out of her head when she looks at him. That’s when he realizes how transparent his thin, white button-down is when it’s wet. He might as well be shirtless. Her mouth drops open, gaze flicking to his torso briefly before returning to his face with a stupefied expression.
Exposed, Evan shields himself with his arms, but it’s not hiding a lot. Something about being perceived by her is doing something to him he can’t quite articulate.
Heat burns through him, almost as hot as the coffee did. “Salt,” he says, as if that would make sense to her.
But without question, she opens the cupboard and holds out the salt canister. Evan has to shuffle over to take it, because she’s averting her gaze, her jaw muscles clenched tight.
“Thanks,” he says.
She nods stiffly. “Baking soda.”
“What?”
“Baking soda works too, if the salt doesn’t.”
“Right, uh, yeah. Thanks,” he says again, walking backward. Still using his arms to hide, Evan rushes to the bathroom. At the sink, he douses his shirt in table salt and lets it soak up the coffee for a few minutes while he changes, trying to rid himself of the memory of Dalisay’s face when she looked at him. In cosplay, he’s used to being stared at, but this was different. This was Dalisay.
Half an hour later, with his wet but stain-free shirt in hand, he leaves the bathroom, fully clothed once more. This week couldn’t have been any more of a disaster. He’s pretty sure he’s still blushing from the way Dalisay stared at him, and it doesn’t go away, especially not when he spots her leaving for the day, her bag thrown over her shoulder.
He must catch her eye too, because she looks his way, and her mouth presses into a thin line. Wordlessly, she stretches her hand overhead and waves goodbye. Pinched between her fingers is the card he’d given her with the candle.
Something between them just happened, and he isn’t sure what to make of it. One thing is for sure, he’s met his match. This really wasn’t as easy as he thought.