Page 22 of The Five Stages of Courting Dalisay Ramos

“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.

CHAPTER SIX

In the middle of the pantry aisle at Cal-Mart, Dalisay stares at the canister of table salt in her hand, her mind firmly back in that kitchen at Overnight. She can’t stop thinking about seeing Evan in that soaked shirt.

She knew something had happened from the way Maggie hurried into the kitchen in a panic, grabbing all the paper towels before leaving again, but Dalisay didn’t quite know the … extent of it, not until Evan walked in looking like Mr. Darcy climbing out of that lake. A coffee-filled lake, for the purposes of this scenario. The way Evan’s wet button-down clung to his body was hardly better than if he were naked. She could seeeverything. How solid his pecs are, how narrow his waist is compared to his shoulders; she could even count his abs.

It left nothing to the imagination.

But he looked so embarrassed, and she feels like a creep for having stared for so long, even if it was only for a second. If their roles were reversed, she would have been mortified.

She almost doesn’t hear Nicole as she rides up on the grocery cart, braking hard with her sneaker to come to a stop right next to her.

“Dalisay? Hello? Did you hear me?” asks Nicole.

Dalisay starts. “What?”

“I asked if you knew where Mama is.”

“Oh, um, deli, I think?” Dalisay puts the salt in the cart.

“You okay?” Nicole peers at Dalisay with a skeptical eye.

“Yep!” Dalisay grabs the front of the cart while Nicole balances on the back, riding it as usual. Dalisay’s determined not to let the sight of Evan’s perfectly adequate torso become a core memory, but sheer willpower alone doesn’t seem like it’s enough to erase it. She can’t stop thinking about him.

After she got home from work, she decided to join Nicole and their mom to buy all the ingredients for Lola’s famous oxtail soup,kare kare, that she’s making this weekend.

Cal-Mart is like most American grocery stores, sprawling with wide aisles and bright displays. The first time Dalisay set foot in one, she was shocked by how big it was. If deciding between two bookcases in IKEA wasn’t frustrating enough, the overwhelming array of choices between six different brands selling the same tomatoes, or cheese, or milk was almost paralyzing at first. She got used to it, of course, but she wasn’t expecting culture shock at agrocery storefor God’s sake.

“So how’s it going with you and Big Brown Eyes?” Nicole asks, stopping the cart at the tower of mangos. She squeezes one and holds it up to her nose. “He pass step two?”

Dalisay blushes. “Evan?” How is it she can get so flustered even saying his name?

“Who else?” Nicole tosses a couple mangos into the cart and moves on to the cartons of strawberries. Ever since Nicole met Evan that day at the birthday party, she’s been teasingDalisay about howso her typeEvan is, despite Dalisay’s protests that it isn’t like that at all, that it’s all for a bet.

“Stage two was sort of a dud. The first day he gave me balloons—”

Nicole barks out a laugh.

“He ended the week strong, though. He got me a candle that smelled like books.” She didn’t mention the note he’d written. It’s still in her purse.

“So is he moving on to stage three?”

Dalisay idly organizes the disheveled rows of blueberry cartons, giving her hands something to do. “I don’t know.”

“What’s there not to know about? I’m starting to think you’re chickening out …”

“I am not!”

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