He looks almost self-conscious as he clears his throat, and that’s what fully draws my attention away from even the thought of his tattoo. “I ordered Chinese takeout, if you wanted to stick around. I have a really nice rooftop view.”

I stare at him for a long moment, trying to parse out his true meaning. It’s clear he’s not saying everything he wants to say. I study the curve of his shoulders, the way his chin is ducked, his brown eyes steady but—hesitant.

And again, I think about how lonely it must be to live in a foreign city all by yourself, a city where you have to hide who you are, a city where you feel adrift.

“Okay,” I say, nodding slowly. “I won’t say no to free food.”

Emmitt smiles, but it’s nothing like the outrageous grins he wears for everyone else. It’s small, soft, private. I’ve never seen it before. “Come on.”

I follow Emmitt up two flights of stairs before he stops briefly at his apartment to abandon his towel. When he comes back out, he’s holding a bottle of soda in one hand and a bedsheet in the other. We head up two more flights of stairs and he pushes open a battered door with one shoulder. I step onto the roof and glance around, looking out on the New York City skyline.

“It is a nice view,” I say and hold my hand out for the bedsheet. He passes it over readily and helps me lay it out on the ground.

All the while, I stare at him, trying to pinpoint what about him is different because something is different. But what?

Emmitt’s phone buzzes and he glances at it briefly, before looking back at me. “I’ll grab the food and be right back,” he says.

I nod, watching him go. It’s right on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t know how to put it into words. Something has shifted.

I can’t help but wonder why I even agreed to this. If someone asked me a few weeks ago if I’d spend time with indie film star Emmitt Ramos of my own volition, I would laugh at them. He’s arrogant, too confident for his own good, and he wears a fake smile most of the time.

Yet here I sit, on a rooftop with peeling paint, the sun beating down on my back, staring out at New York City and waiting for him to return. Maybe even looking forward to it.

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