Page 45 of Engineering a Love Story

I jot down one more sentence: Aurelian’s new product, PayNow, is the innovation leader in this sector, and Gilroy predicts it will capture a significant share of the online bill-payment market.

I turn the screen to Evan. “What do you think?”

He leans in and reads my revisions. “That should do it.”

We address a few other changes, then load the Market Spotlight into Gilroy’s kludgy publishing system, kicking off the too-long workflow that will send the report through editing. It will be ready for final publication two weeks early.

We’ve done it. I’m tempted to dash to Howard’s office and brag about our early pub date, but it will be cooler to let him see it on his own.

Evan flips his pen onto my desk. “We should celebrate. Blue Note? Maybe Travis will meet us?”

Leaning back, I stretch my arms above my head. “I doubt we’ll see Travis.”

After weeks of preparation and last-minute scrambling, Daisuke finally arrived the previous Friday. Travis brought him to the Blue Note one night earlier this week and we all crowded around, eager to meet the young man after hearing so much about him. I’d been so excited when Travis introduced us, I impulsively leaned forward and gave Daisuke a quick embrace.

“Whoa,” Travis said. “Hugging isn’t really a thing in Japan.”

Pulling back, I said, “Sorry. Hugging isn’t a thing where I come from either.”

Daisuke laughed and reached to put his arms around my shoulders. In contrast to thin and wispy Travis, who has the pasty pallor of someone who spends a lot of time discussing networking equipment, Daisuke is stocky and rugged, with wide, athletic shoulders and skin that’s a little ruddy. That night, he wore a turquoise sweater vest that exposed his muscular arms and torn jeans rolled above some kind of trendy, high-top sneakers. Travis was dressed as if he’d come from work, though he had not.

We all sat together in a booth. Evan and Lian were there, and Lars stopped by with a statuesque blonde woman. We all tried to learn what Travis and Daisuke had been up to for the past few days, but we didn’t receive many details; I don’t think they’d left Travis’s apartment. Travis alternated between fidgeting and beaming. He didn’t even smoke, though he maintained a consistent, nervous tapping of his fingers against the edge of his blue drink.

We haven’t seen him since.

“Travis won’t be out tonight,” I say to Evan. And I beg off drinks as well, pleading fatigue and relief that the Spotlight is behind us, and not wanting Evan to inquire too much about my weekend plans. The Amtrak from New York can take an hour longer on a Friday than its usual four. I don’t know when Seth will arrive.

Twenty-Six

The next morning, I wake with Seth beside me. His eyes are open, his head resting on a stack of pillows. “You’re up early,” I say, putting my forehead against his chest and soaking up his not-clean smell, the cinnamon a little musky now. He looks wonderful against the white and green of my new sheets, though his presence in my bed is also a little shocking.

The night before, I sat here pretending to read for hours, trying to convince myself it was only the overheated apartment making me sweat. Finally, through my open bedroom window, I heard a car outside. Over the idling engine came the rumble of Seth’s voice thanking the driver and the slam of the car door. I had worried a little that after trying to picture him for the past month, I might not remember what he looks like. But it was undoubtedly Seth I could see out the window, crossing the street to find me.

Once he was inside, I offered him a shower, but I don’t think he even answered as we moved to the bedroom. Pushing away the covers, we were tender and urgent at the same time. And then he fell asleep.

I couldn’t imagine his fatigue. Nearly two weeks in Asia, the endless trip back. He dealt with the heat in New York too, though he spent most of his time in the cooled offices of banks. Then, the AC was out on the Amtrak, he reported. He’d had a long, hot trip. I angled the fan to better cool us and tried to settle.

Thunder rolled in after two. The storm went on for at least an hour, an interminable battery of lightning and noise. I had to go to the living room to close the windows to keep the sofa from being soaked, though I let the cool, wet air pour into my bedroom.

“Jet lag,” is all Seth says now, wide awake and smiling. “It’s cooler.”

“There was a huge storm. You slept through it.”

“I was nearly delirious last night. I apologize.”

“No need.” Seth lies back and I slot in beside him, my hand on his chest. “How was Asia?”

“Incredible. Exhausting. Do you have any food? I’m starving.”

Seth trails me to the kitchen, where I brew coffee and put out the spread I purchased on my way home from the office yesterday. I’d paused in the store, wondering if I should attempt to cook something for Seth, running through the weak repertoire of meals I used to make on the North Shore. Deciding against that, I bought only cheese and bread, fruit and coffee.

After I lay all this on the table, I trot downstairs for the newspaper, and then I place this on the table, too, beside where Seth is drinking coffee. The pile of papers I brought from work yesterday sits near his arm, and I sweep this up.

“You don’t have a TV,” he says as I settle the papers on the floor near my stereo.

“I didn’t get custody, I guess you could say.”

“But, no movies? No hospital dramas? No sports?”