“Not really,” he said. “I mean here. Downtown.”
I shrugged. “It’s colder here. It’s closer to the river.”
He groaned. “It’s not that cold, Lissy.”
“Right now, I’m really cold, man,” I said.
“Did you underestimate the temperature again?”
“I think I might have.”
He smirked.
“What is the temperature, anyway?”
Jonah held up a finger, then rooted around in his pockets for his phone. “Damn,” he said. “Oh, wait. Okay.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, but it got caught on a strap on his pants, and it took him a moment to extricate it. “Damn.”
The wind blew a newspaper up at my knees, and I kicked it away.
“Got it,” Jonah said, squinting at his phone, squinting at his phone. “Twenty-eight.”
Yep. I’d definitely underestimated the temperature.
The wind picked up, and I was suddenly afraid that I’d be blown over the side of the building to plummet to my death on the asphalt below. I headed for the ladder.
As we rounded the corner onto Third Street, a big gust of wind came by, nearly blowing my hat off. I pulled it down on my head as far as it could go, and my teeth chattered.
Jonah wrapped his arms around me from the side, turning us into a staggering, uneven, lumbering . . . something. It’s like being a team in a three-legged race and you’re both drunk.
“What are you doing?” I said. I tried to stop, but he tripped over my foot, which made me start going forward again.
“I thought you said you were cold,” he said.
“Well . . .” It was a sweet gesture, but irritating, because neither of us could walk properly. “Not enough for the drunk-sailor-on-drunk-sailor.”
He laughed and moved so that he only had one arm around my shoulders.
“When the blind lead the blind, they both fall into the ditch,” I murmured.
“What?”
My mouth suddenly tasted bitter. “Joy,” I said, and I actually saw stars for a moment. I blinked and shook my head to clear them away.
“Jesus, Lissy.”
“You’re not kidding, man,” I said, and wrapped my arm around his waist.
The first coffee shop we passed, one of the four Starbucks downtown, was packed. We went on until we came to Delia’s Bakery, which advertised “Fresh coffee! Fresh pastries!” in a painted flowery script on the window. Inside, a middle-aged man was reading USA Today and drinking espresso.
“How about here?” I said.
Jonah shrugged. It’s a weird feeling when someone shrugs when they’re holding you. “Sure,” he said. “The next Starbucks is probably full, too. I always forget about this place.”
I nodded. It was sandwiched between the office of Pearson and Donner, Attorneys at Law, and a Wachovia ATM. It was surprisingly easy to miss, despite the bright windows. We went in. Aside from the newspaper-reader, the place was empty.
“I’ll be right back,” Jonah said, and headed off in the direction of the restrooms in the back.
“Wait,” I said. “What do you want?”
He pivoted, biting his lip. “I don’t know. You know what I like.”
“Dude, it’s coffee. Pick something.”
“Surprise me.”
“Fine.”
He headed for the restrooms, I headed for the counter. I didn’t see anyone. Hm. What if this place wasn’t open yet? Maybe the newspaper-reading man owned it, and had gone out to the newsstand to grab a paper and come back and just hadn’t locked the door, and was so engrossed in yesterday’s updates of the war or a serial killer at large that he hadn’t noticed us. I noticed a little bell on the counter, and I tapped it nervously. I mean, we were paying customers. Nobody is going to throw paying customers out, even at 7:30 in the morning, are they? Well, more like 7:40, but who even cared?
“Can I help you?”
I looked up. My friend Marcus’s head was floating over the pastry case.
“Lissy?” he said.
Labels: january brings few faces
