I put my hand on my hip and shook my hair out. “I don’t know what you are talking about. I borrowed this sweater from BamBam. And we both know that BamBam would never own a sweater that looks like Buzzy’s.”
Ethan cackled at my sarcasm as the car doors closed. Walking toward me, he pointed at his chest with both hands. “My bad. I forgot that our grandmothers are the most original people. Let’s never tell them that their taste in sweaters is the same.”
“I’ll agree to those terms only if I receive the hug I was promised.”
“You drive a hard bargain.” Ethan spread his arms wide. I stepped into his embrace, burying my head against his chest and wrapping my arms around him. Ethan rested his chin on the top of my head, creating a protective shield for me to sink deeper into.
There are some hugs that feel like home, an embrace standing in for a lifetime of conversations that haven’t happened yet but mean something just the same. Being here in a Las Vegas parking lot on a chilly evening with Ethan’s arms encircling me was one of those hugs. Falling into the moment fully, I lostmyself in the rhythm of his breathing, the way he smelled, and the way I felt in his arms. Not like I was being squeezed so hard I couldn’t breathe or held so loosely that it seemed like a signal to let go. This felt like we fit.
Headlights shone in my face as another car pulled into the parking lot, reminding me that we were here for a reason. Reluctantly, I loosened my grip on Ethan and he slowly let go ofme.
Taking a step back, we locked eyes, and he asked, “Feel better?”
“Yes, but—Oh, don’t look so smug.”
“I’m not smug, I promise.”
“And yet, you still look smug.” I shook my head and started walking out of the parking lot and up a little hill toward the museum.
“Never.” I threw Ethan a sideways look as he jogged to catch up with me, smiling sheepishly. “Okay, it is less a smug thing and more pleased. You tried to be all aloof when I met you, and I have accurately predicted your emotional needs several times.”
“Accurately predicted my emotional needs?” My eyebrows shot up. “You fed me chips and gave me a hug. That doesn’t exactly make your emotional intelligence sky-high.”
“And yet, something is telling me that if I asked if you wanted to hold my hand right now, the answer to that would be yes.” My jaw dropped even as my heart started beating about a million times a minute. Ethan offered me that same smug smile and held out his hand. “Tell me if I’m wrong.”
I glanced down at his hand for a moment, then back at him. The smile was still there, but underneath it was a hint ofsomething else. Nerves, maybe? The thought that he was still worried I might say no made my insides melt.
“Alright, maybe you figured me out a little bit.” I sighed and placed my hand in his. Ethan’s smile spread, and all traces of apprehension washed away. Wrinkling my nose up at him, I added, “Don’t go getting a big head or anything.”
“Oh, of course not.” Ethan shrugged one shoulder as we made our way to the museum lobby, the hum of neon lights already filling the air. “A couple lucky breaks. That’s all.”
The two of us walked in the kind of silence that doesn’t need filling. The neck of a massive glowing guitar jutted up over a white fence into the night sky, letting us know that we were in the right place. The Neon Museum building was unlike anything I’d seen before. Like someone had taken seashells and placed them side by side on top of a brightly lit glass box.
“What time is your reservation?” a chipper employee asked as we reached the door.
“Eight-fifteen,” Ethan told them.
The employee grinned and readjusted the hat on their head before waving us in. “Go ahead and wait in the lobby. The tour will get started in about seven minutes.”
I did my best to smile, too, although that was partially my teeth chattering as the air continued to cool. In hindsight, I needed more cute outfits that involved pants.
The two of us walked through the doors and into the lobby. Inside, the bright-white shells resembled the vaults in a church ceiling. Behind a partially roped-off area, several people pointed at different display cases, speaking softly. I’d known thiswas a museum, and yet I wasn’t prepared for how quiet it’d be, given all the bright lights around us. Stepping closer to Ethan, I squeezed his hand. He held on to my gaze. My heartbeat picked up all over again, and I wondered if I would ever get used to the way his eyes on mine made me feel.
“Welcome. I can scan your tickets here,” said the employee behind a podium in the cordoned-off area.
Ethan let go of my hand, then reached into his pocket to get his phone. My palm tingled as cool air rushed into the place where his hand had been. I rubbed my fingers against the skin of my palm. At the start of the trip, I could’ve counted on one hand the number of times I’d thought about Ethan Wyatt—all of them tied to my grandma. Now I was officially the person who missed holding his hand. How had that snuck up on me so quickly?
“Jamie?”
The sound of Ethan saying my name pulled me out of my thoughts. The employee had finished putting a band around his wrist. I held my arm out and they snapped the wristband around mine, saying, “These are for the second part of the show. Have fun.”
Ethan and I stepped into the waiting area and wandered toward a display case by the wall. Inside was an upside-down drawing of a building, a mirror staged over it so that the viewer could see the picture right side up as well.
“Oh,” Ethan said next to me, sounding excited as he waved at the case. “I read about this.”
“A drawing?”
“No. The building. The person who designed it is an extremely famous Black architect. He learned to draw upside down because white clients didn’t want to sit next to him, which is weird because he was building their homes,” Ethan digressed, his forehead wrinkling as he tried to process the cognitive dissonance, then, accepting that he couldn’t, shook his head to get himself back on track. “He designed celebrity houses and stuff. What’s his name?” Ethan pushed his hair off his forehead as he tried to remember.
