Page 35 of The Five Stages of Courting Dalisay Ramos

Evan takes the initiative to place the order for both of them and when he does, he says, “Food’ll be ready in twenty. I’ll pick it up.”

“Thanks,” she says, and they get back to writing. On her laptop, she sees Evan working in their shared document and she watches his words as they appear on her screen. Despite the speed with which he types, she can tell he’s tired. He looks like he didn’t sleep well last night; his hair is extra mussed and his eyes a little glassy.

With the office empty, she can’t help that her mind starts to imagine all the things that could happen without worrying anyone would walk in on them. She’s seen enough trash TV to easily picture the way he could press her up against the wall, kiss her neck, hold her hips … The image invades her mind before she can stop it, and she scrambles for anything else to think about in a desperate effort to gather her wits.

“How long do you think this will take?” she asks, a little pitchy.

Evan sighs and rocks his head to the side, still not looking up from his computer. “As long as it needs to, right? Got somewhere to be?”

“No. I just … You look tired.”

“Thanks?” he says, with a hint of a smile.

“I didn’t …” She catches herself and licks her lips. “I just know you’ve been working hard lately. With servitude and all.”

“Are you taking pity on me?” When he looks at her, with those dark eyes lit up by the glow of his computer screen, that smile of his takes center stage. Damn him. Something inside her coils up, a heated pressure below her navel. Howcan he turn her on with just one smile? The back of her neck feels sunburned.

“I’m saying,” she says, forcing her gaze to the keys on her laptop, “we can get an outline at least, figure out our main points, and then take another stab at it tomorrow. I’ll ask Naomi for an extension if we need it.”

Evan seems amenable to that idea. “All I want is to get home to Tallulah,” he says and glances at his watch.

“Tallulah?”

Evan’s eyes flick up to her and a hint of a smile creases the corners. “My dog.”

“Oh.” The pressure below her navel dispels the longer she sits in silence. Is she really starting to feel something for him? She rolls her teeth across her lower lip. For some reason, she never expected that he would have a dog, let alone a dog with such a delicate name. “What is she? Tallulah?”

“Dachshund. Wiener dog.”

Dalisay actually laughs.

Evan raises his eyebrows. “What?”

“I didn’t picture you’d have a dachshund, or a dog period, for that matter.”

“Why?”

“I figured you were more of a cat person because you’re also independent, aloof, and stubborn.”

This time when Evan smiles, it’s the kind that melts into Dalisay’s skin like sunshine. “Then I guess you don’t know me at all.”

Her heart sinks a little. Pinky was right, she really doesn’t.

All Dalisay can do is try to smile, but she knows how unfair she’s been toward him these past few days. She realizesthis is the first time they’ve had a conversation, arealconversation, since he started doing the Five Stages. Normally, they wouldn’t be alone in the same room together if they were playing by Manila rules. But nothing, when it comes to Evan Saatchi, is normal.

Dalisay draws her eyes back to her computer, as if she’s about to start working again, but she can’t, not when it feels like everything’s been set off-balance between them. He’s had to learn so much about her to go through the stages, and here she is, not knowing anything about him, even something as small as him having a dog. If their roles were reversed, and she was the one doing the Five Stages, how would she go about winning his affection? What music does he like? What kind of gifts would she give him? How could she be helpful to his family? Where does he even live? The answers are all infuriatingly blank.

And it’s her own fault.

The Ramos family goes all out for the holiday, it would seem.

Evan stands in the driveway while Mrs. Ramos opens the garage to reveal plastic boxes upon boxes labeledChristmas. Evan is certain there isn’t room left to park a car, there are so many.

“Wow,” he says as he looks at the two-dozen or so boxes labeled Lights. “They must be able to see your house from space.”

His attempt at a joke falls flat. “I don’t think so,” she says, earnestly. Just like her daughters, Mrs. Ramos has dark eyes and hair, but unlike them, when she smiles at him it’s pure,simple warmth. Her wrist is still in a cast, so he does all the work carrying the boxes to the driveway for her. As if he’d let her do it anyway, even if she wasn’t hurt.

“Use a ladder,” she says, “and hang the lights on the outside of the house. Then bring theparolfrom the garage to hang in the bay window.”

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