Page 30 of Between Then and Now
Ryan laughs out loud, which he rarely does. “As long as you’ll be the one who decorates; I hate decorating,” he says.
“Of course, you do. And I love decorating. So, you can just be the one to take them down,” I say.
“Sounds like a plan. We’ll be Mr. and Mrs. Miller, the old friendly neighbors from Magnolia Heights,” he replies. He glances at me, and he offers me a subtle smile, which I return instinctively.
Well, that got too real too quickly. Before I can retort, Ryan clears his throat and rolls down the windows as we approach the coastal road. “Go ahead, Bon, I know you want to do it. Stick your head out and enjoy the breeze.”
And I do what he says. I look out of the window and lean outside. The view is amazing. The wind whips through my hair, carrying with it the salty scent of the ocean mixed with the fresh, earthy smell of the land. The breeze feels exhilarating against my skin, and for a moment, I feel completely free and alive.
The landscape is a mesmerizing blend of rolling hills and sheer cliffs, with the ocean stretching out endlessly to the horizon. The sunset reflects on the ocean, making it glimmer as if it’s filled with a million multi-colored diamonds. Fishing boats bob gently in the water, their lights beginning to flicker on as the night approaches. I can see fishermen collecting their nets and fishing gear, ready to retreat for the night.
Along the rugged coastline, secluded coves and pristine sandy beaches appear, each more beautiful than the last. It's like someone painted a perfect postcard and decided to make it real. Nestled atop the hills, the iconicIvatanhouses stand proudly, their traditional thatched roofs blending seamlessly with the natural landscape. Those houses look like something straight out of a fairy tale. I half expect a hobbit to pop out and wave hello.
“Wow,” I breathe out. “This is beautiful.” When I look back at Ryan, he’s smiling at me.
“This view stretches out longer. I knew you’d want to film it,” he says.
“Yeah, but all my gear is back in the inn.” I suddenly feel frustrated for not getting ready for this; it would’ve been a good addition to my documentary.
“I brought it. Your cameras and batteries are back there,” Ryan says as he gestures to the backseat. I whirl around, and sure enough, my film bag is sitting right there.
My eyes grow wide. “You didn’t!” I dive into the backseat to retrieve the bag and start setting up my video camera. I start filming the view before saying, “Thank you so much.”
“Well, I planned on making this a perfect date,” he says with a heartfelt smile.
My stomach does a weird flip, and I get a bit dizzy. He is practicing for a date with Alexa, and Alexa doesn’t have a filmbag she might need. On one hand, I feel a surge of warmth and appreciation for Ryan's thoughtfulness. The fact that he remembered my stuff, anticipated my needs, and went out of his way to bring it along speaks volumes about his attentiveness. It's a gesture that feels personal, almost intimate, and it makes my heart race in a way I hadn't expected. I don’t know why I’m reacting like this when he’s only being nice.
On the other hand, a flicker of confusion gnaws at the edges of my mind. Is this just part of his practice, a way to make sure he is fully prepared for his real date with Alexa? Yeah. Probably. I don't want to read too much into it, don't want to let my mind—and frankly, my heart—wander down paths that might lead to disappointment. But the gesture is undeniably thoughtful, and it makes me feel seen and appreciated in a way that is hard to ignore. Maybe my heart is overreacting. Can hearts overreact? Is that a thing?
I’ve never been an overthinker, and I don’t want to start now. So, I’ll have to stop jumping from one thought to another to maintain my peace. It’s a friendly gesture. And a way to make sure he would be prepared for anything that may happen on Saturday. It’s nothing else.
When we arrive at the town proper, it’s almost night. The sun has disappeared below the horizon, but the sky still holds hints of purple and orange hues, casting a soft glow over the streets. Some of the shops are already lit, their warm lights spilling onto the cobblestone paths, while others still cling to the last remnants of daylight. The air is filled with a gentle buzz of activity, the sounds of laughter and conversation blending with the distant hum of the ocean. The town looks like it's been dipped in twilight magic, all cozy and inviting.
“What do you want for dinner, Bon?” Ryan asks as he turns off the car engine, and we step outside. We walk away from the car, strolling along the charming shops, their inviting storefronts drawing us in.
“I actually have something planned but is there something you want to eat?” he continues, his tone thoughtful and considerate.
“Let’s go with your plan. It’s the whole point of this,” I say, smiling at him. “But that’s a good touch. You’re giving your date an option to decide, and—” I stop abruptly as he looks at me with a straight face. “Sorry. Feedback later,” I say, making a motion of zipping my mouth. Ryan chuckles as he motions for me to follow him.
We wander through the town, the quaint atmosphere enveloping us. The streets are lined with colorful awnings and charming displays, each shop exuding its own unique character. As we walk, the tantalizing aroma of freshly cooked Filipino dishes wafts through the air, making my stomach rumble in anticipation.
Ryan leads us to a cozy little eatery tucked away on a quiet side street. The sign above the door reads “Panganan ni Lola,” and soft, ambient music drifts out from inside. The warm glow of candlelight flickers through the windows, making the sidewalk look like it’s glittering.
Oof, it's like we stepped into a rom-com set. How perfect for a platonic practice date… not.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Bonita
“This place looks amazing,” I say, feeling a flutter of maybe excitement or hunger or something else entirely unrelated.
“I know, right? I scouted the vicinity yesterday, and it was either this or a small Italian place,” Ryan says. “And if I remember correctly, you don’t like Italian. Except for pizza that you ruin with disgusting toppings.”
Again, another date choice tailored to my preferences. And again, I will ignore it. It’s just Ryan practicing being an attentive date—he will probably adjust depending on who he’s with. “Shut up. My pizza toppings are divine,” I say casually. Pineapple on pizza is a hill I’m willing to die on.
We step inside, greeted by the inviting warmth of the eatery. The interior is charmingly rustic, with wooden beams overhead and shelves lined with traditionalIvatancrafts. A friendly hostess leads us to a cozy corner table, where a small vase of fresh flowers adds a touch of elegance.
As we settle into our seats, I can't help but marvel at how perfect the setting is. The gentle hum of conversations, the clinking of cutlery, and the occasional burst of laughter create a lively yet intimate atmosphere.
