Page 71 of My Debacle with De Lorenzo

“Just let them have dinner,” Mo urges. “With all that’s been going on, he deserves to have the night off and enjoy a quiet dinner.”

“Thank you, Mo.”

Mo nods and presses a button for us to move through the turnstile. “Go up to the top floor. When you get out of the elevator, go right, walk until you get to the end of the corridor, then go right again. You’ll see a red door with a lever. That’ll take you to the staircase that goes up to the roof. There’s nothing up there, though.”

“And remember, we’re watching you,” Joey adds.

“Have a good evening.” Mo smiles at us. “And please give your dad my regards.”

Ah, the dreaded and useless regards. Joey still doesn’t look happy but says nothing when we move to the other set of elevators. We wait for one to come down and I’m almost bursting when the doors open in front of us.

A squeal lurches out of me the second the doors close again. “I can’t believe you did it!”

“Geez, I hope Mister Hart’s okay. Sounds like he had a nasty fall.”

Our initial reactions to this situation say a lot about the differences in our personalities. He’s far more caring than me. And it’s not like I don’t feel bad for this Mister Hart guy, but I don’t know him, so I’m kinda indifferent. We follow the instructions Mo gave us and the cool night air hits my face when we step out onto the roof. I walk to the edge, looking over the side and a gasp of elation escapes me.

The view is amazing from up here. The city glows with vibrant blue, pink, and yellow lights. The constant movement down below makes it look like it’s alive, yet the bustle is balanced out by quiet peacefulness here. I hear nothing but the breeze flitting through my hair.

“I love it up here,” Dylan says, coming to stand behind me. “This is so much better than a party. Good suggestion.”

“Right? It’s great. The only problem is how long it took us to find this place because I am starving.”

He looks around. “They weren’t lying. There’s nothing up here. I’m not sure how?”

“We’ll just sit on the floor.”

“On the floor?” He’s not happy with this idea. “You want to sit on thefloor?”

“Yes, rich boy. There’s nothing wrong with sitting on the floor.”

He pulls an unimpressed face. “I wasn’t saying that because of me.Youcan’t sit on the floor wearing that.” He whips off his hoodie and lays it on the floor. “There. Sit on that.”

Maybe it’s because I’ve only known assholes, but that gesture throws me, and I have no idea how to respond. I just stand there, staring at him in bewilderment until he nudges me.

“Sit down.”

With a great deal of awkwardness, I sit down on his hoodie, and he sits directly in front of me. I unpack the takeout, and he whips out five oil candles in glass jars.

“When did you get those?” I ask.

“I snuck away for a second while you were watching those break dancers.” He lights them up one by one, and now this dusty rooftop is all romantic with soft, warm lighting.

“You could not make this any soppier.”

“Wanna bet?” He takes his phone out of his pocket, taps on his Spotify app, and a few seconds later, slow beats float through the air.

“Is thatPerfectby Ed Sheeran?”

“I could take it up a notch if he’s not good enough for you. I mean, I could go James Arthur on your ass.”

“No, Ed Sheeran’s good.” I’m struggling to control my facial muscles. My lips keep twitching, trying to stop a smile from spreading. He’s watching me, just waiting for it. Eventually, I can’t contain it anymore, and I’m grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Nothing like some R andBrieto set the mood.”

“It’s not that cheesy,” he says with a chuckle, handing me a white cardboard box and a set of chopsticks.

“Did this not come with forks? I don’t know how to eat with these.”

“No forks. But it’s easy. I’ll show you.”

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