Charlie gives his hand a small squeeze, secretly grateful for Dev’s fear and the justification it gives them to hold hands. They’re two thousand feet up, trapped in a metal box, spinning their way up a mountain. Dev’s hand is in his, and the view is too spectacular for fear.
“Dev,” he whispers. “Open your eyes. It’s beautiful. Dev.”
Dev peels open one eye. Then another. Charlie watches the view register on Dev’s equally beautiful face. “Whoa,” Dev says when he sees the way the city melts into the lush green of rolling hills, the impossible blue of the ocean, the sharp juts of gray mountain appearing beneath them, Lion’s Head peak puncturing the skyline.
“I know.”
The cable car arrives at the observatory on top of the mountain, and as they spill out with everyone else, Dev pulls back his hand. Charlie understands. He’s the star of a reality show, and he has six girlfriends, and any one of these tourists could recognize him and take a picture—a picture that could end up on any number of gossip sites. But for one glorious minute, Dev was holding his hand in public, and some things are too spectacular for fear.
He waits until they’re past the observation deck, where the throngs of tourists lessen, dwindling down even more once they’re on the hiking trail to the other side of the mountain. When it’s just the two of them, he reaches out again to take Dev’s hand. Dev intertwines their fingers, and Charlie had no idea such a simple gesture could feel so huge inside his chest.
The hike out is perfect, all breathtaking vistas and Dev’s hand snug in his. The hike back to the cable car is less great. When the sun starts to go down, the temperature drops considerably, and Dev gets hungry, and then tired, and then plagued by foot pain.
“I told you not to wear flip-flops.”
Dev collapses onto a rock. “I know, goddamn you!” He screams in agony, takes off a shoe, and throws it into a king protea bush.
“Okay, you are not Reese Witherspoon in Wild.”
“I mean, we have similar cheekbones.”
Charlie hunts down the rogue flip-flop and puts it on Dev’s foot like Dev is a very cranky Cinderella. “I’m sorry I’ve planned such a terrible practice date and that you’re so miserable.” Dev rolls his eyes. “Now, come on. I’ll carry you. Climb on my back.”
“I’m not a child, Charlie.”
“No, you are a grown man having a temper tantrum and throwing your flip-flops at innocent flowers.”
“I have blisters!”
“Yes, I know, sweetheart. Come on.”
Dev consents to be carried half a mile back to the cable car, at least until they’re around other people again, his hipbones stabbing into Charlie’s back, legs wrapped around his waist like the sleeves of his sweater, chin on his shoulder.
“This isn’t a terrible date,” Dev says into his ear. And maybe it’s because they can’t see each other’s faces, but Dev takes a sharp breath. “It’s maybe the best date I’ve ever had.”
* * *
They promised to meet up with Parisa and Jules for dinner at a Caribbean restaurant called Banana Jam Cafe. When they arrive, Jules and Parisa are already there, lounging on a patio under a red umbrella, enjoying their second round of Jam Jars, which have turned their tongues electric pink.
“What did you boys get up to today?” Parisa asks, putting her feet in Charlie’s lap as soon as he sits down.
“Charlie carried me down a mountain.”
“Not down. More… across.”
“Heroic and manly nonetheless.”
“The two words my father most often used to describe me.”