Page 56 of The Five Stages of Courting Dalisay Ramos

Dalisay lifts her head ever so slightly and drags her hand up to rest on her chin, sparing his ribs from the surprisingly sharp power of her bone structure as a serious look crosses her face. “Why would I say no?”

Evan shrugs. “Maybe I’m a little nervous and I’m hoping you’ll say no for me?”

“Nervous? What do you have to be nervous about? They raised you! I want to see where all this comes from.” Shewaves her hand over his face. “I want to meet them. Where do they live?”

“Carmel. When I told him about my promotion, my dad mentioned it was a good enough reason for us to take a day trip to visit them this weekend.”

Dalisay hums. She isn’t as familiar with the geography, but it thrills Evan that he can show her where he grew up. “Where’s Carmel?”

“A little ways south. Couple hours driving. We could borrow JM’s car. I don’t trust Bettie to make the trip.”

“What’s wrong with Bettie?” Dalisay asks, her eyebrows creasing. She looks as concerned as if Bettie were a real person.

“What isn’t wrong with Bettie?” he asks, grinning. “But I don’t want us getting stranded on the side of the road somewhere. It’s not half as fun as it looks in the movies.”

Smiling, Dalisay’s fingers trace thoughtfully over Evan’s chest, tickling him with her silky touch. “Should I bring something?” Despite her smile, he can hear an edge of nervousness in her voice.

“You don’t have to.”

“I’d feel rude coming empty-handed,” she says.

“It’s not rude. Really, they won’t expect anything of you.”

Dalisay lifts herself up on her elbow and looks at him. “I want to make a good impression.”

“It’ll be great,” Evan says, assuring her with a peck on the lips. “We’ll make it a road trip, drive down the coast, our first couple’s vacation.”

He sees the fantasy light up her eyes, no doubt imagining driving the coast with her hair blowing in the wind. “Okay.Then I’ll make leche flan,” she says. “It’s my mom’s specialty. Always a hit at parties. I’ll use her recipe.”

“You don’t have to try to impress them,” Evan says, smiling. He kisses her again. “They’ll love you no matter what.”

Like I already do, he thinks.

Late winter in San Francisco is cold compared to Manila, but Dalisay rolls the windows down and lets the wind whip through her hair as Evan blasts classic rock hits for them to drive along to. The sun rises through the gray, misty morning air, and by the time they get through Half Moon Bay, it’s warm and bright as they follow the coastal road, curving and winding through green farmlands and cliffs that overlook sandy beaches.

With her leche flan tucked carefully in a cooler at her feet, Dalisay can relax for a little bit. Her mom helped her make it, a sign that she wants Dalisay to impress Evan’s parents as much as Dalisay does. But all of Dalisay’s worries go by the wayside as Evan drives, singing along with the music. Smiling is easy when she’s with him.

The views are spectacular, sometimes literally taking her breath away. It’s not every day she sees a pod of whales breeching the ocean surface, a couple of seals sunbathing on the rocks, and—the best one yet—a raft of sea otters holding hands in the surf. Dalisay nearly yanks the steering wheel so they can stop and get a better look.

By the time they reach Evan’s parents’ house, it’s a little after noon. Unlike the picture-perfect fairy-tale-like cottagesDalisay saw in the rest of Carmel, the Saatchi house is a little more subdued. It’s painted a soft, buttery yellow with a nut-brown roof. Large windows overlook a neatly kept lawn, and a balcony on the second floor rises above a patio shaded with a large green umbrella. Like Evan’s condo, it’s neat, stylish, and orderly—Dalisay can tell even just by looking at the exterior.

Her stomach sits high with nerves. She clutches her cooler and glances at Evan, who smiles at her, softening her heart a little, and leans over to kiss her forehead.

“Let’s go,” he says.

She takes a deep breath and exits the car.

Mr. Saatchi is already on the porch. He must have heard them come up the driveway. Seeing him, Dalisay knows where Evan got his full head of hair and strong jaw from. Good looks run in the family. He’s a white man in his sixties, similar in age to her own mom.

Evan bounds up the steps and greets his father, giving him a huge hug and slapping him on the back.

“There’s my senior editor!” Mr. Saatchi says, his voice low and booming.

Evan pulls back, grinning, and turns to Dalisay. He holds out his hand for her and she steps up. “Dad, this is Dalisay Ramos.”

“Of course! So good to finally meet you, Dalisay,” he says. His handshake is firm and well-practiced. “Evan’s been talking nonstop about you.”

Heat spreads up Dalisay’s face. Hearing that Evan talks about her to other people is a wonderful feeling even if she knows she should be used to it by now. It’s surreal in the bestway possible to know that he thinks about her even when she’s not around. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Saatchi.”

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