Page 3 of The Five Stages of Courting Dalisay Ramos

She laughs and tucks more of her hair behind her ear. “When I flew here from Manila, I could hardly function. My jet lag was awful! I didn’t feel like a person for ages.”

“Been there, for sure,” Evan says, grinning. “This is your first time here?”

“Yes! I traveled all over Asia for Weisure, but everything’s been so busy since we moved, I haven’t had a chance to reallycheck out San Francisco yet. I’d love to visit the Asian Art Museum soon, see how it compares.”

“The museum is awesome. They have this mochi pounding demonstration—the way those guys hammer at the dough at lightning speed, it’s amazing. That, and mochi in general.”

“Well then, I have to go now!” She shifts a little so she’s facing him, her back flat against the edge of the counter. “You like it here? At Overnight?”

“Yeah. I do. Been a junior editor just over a year now. It’s a good gig. Is Naomi helping you get settled?”

“Yeah, it’s been great so far. But heading a brand-new department is huge. And adjusting to a new job is always nerve-racking.”

“For sure.” Evan sucks in a breath. He should tell her that he applied for the position. He’d hate it if she found out secondhand and risk her thinking he resented her. Better she hear it from him directly. “I actually applied for your job, so I know it’s a lot.”

Dalisay’s eyebrows rise. “Really?”

“Yeah, but I think they picked the better candidate to be honest. No hard feelings whatsoever.” Making her smile is like serotonin injected directly into his brain. It’s stupid-good.

“Well, thank you for the vote of confidence.”

“No problem. I’m sure you’ll figure everything out, but if you ever need anything, I’m happy to help.”

“I may take you up on that.”

Dalisay’s eyes sparkle. When she smiles with her lips closed like that, the dimples in her cheeks come out, but she seems to catch herself doing it. Her face turns more serious, and she takes a deep breath as she drags her fingers through her hair.She turns away from him and opens a cupboard only to find a wall of mugs. She opens another one—mugs. Another—mugs all the way down.

Every corporate event, every team building getaway, every convention, commemorative mugs come back to the office. There are more mugs here than there are people in the building.

Dalisay looks baffled.

“Here,” Evan says. He holds out his hand and Dalisay steps back. He pulls a handle below the counter and reveals a drawer full of tea bags, coffees, and terrible instant espresso. “Voilà.”

“My caffeine hero.”

“Not all of us wear capes.”

Dalisay tips her head to the side playfully, grinning, but she catches herself again, clears her throat, and starts flipping through tea bags with dexterous fingers.

The water bubbles in the kettle, making it rock slightly in its dock, and clicks off. Steam rises from the lid when Dalisay opens it to cool off a little and chooses a mango green tea. She offers him one too without realizing that it’s his favorite, second only to his morning espresso.

“Thanks,” he says, as she pours them both a mug.

Evan chews on his bottom lip and shifts his weight from one hip to the other. He should ask her out, he’d be crazy not to. There’s a spark between them that’s hard to ignore. He’s used to asking women out, but this time, something feels different. He can’t quite place it, but whatever it is, it’s making his mouth dry.

Before he can chicken out, he says, “Look, I don’t normally do this, but I was wondering if you’d want to grab a drink with me sometime.”

Dalisay pauses, then slowly puts the kettle back in its dock. She turns, squares her shoulders to him, and looks him up and down, taking in his navy-blue sweatshirt, jeans, and blunnies—his go-to travel wear. Something flashes in her eye, a brightness he doesn’t expect, and one corner of her mouth lifts.

“You travel a lot, don’t you,” she says. Not a question.

He looks down at his outfit and decides to play along. “Comes with the job. I like to think I know my way around an airport at least.” He gives her another smile, but Dalisay hums and curls her lips. “I’m free tomorrow, if you are,” he says.

When Dalisay laughs, it rings. “Wow.” She shakes her head in disbelief and dissolves the honey in her tea with a wooden stirrer. “Tomorrow. So soon … Really?”

“You have plans?”

Dalisay flips her hair over her shoulder and squints one eye at him, like she’s looking through a microscope. “Let me guess—correct me if I’m wrong but let me try. Europe is like your playground. You’ve been there so often, you probably think you know how the rest of the world works.”

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