What follows is an extract from Hana Eastwood's diary

12th August 2012

11:46 pm

It took Landon seven minutes to find me in a mildly crowded restaurant, this was after he said that he had reached. In that moment, I asked myself why I agreed to this for the fourth time since last night when he called to ask me if I could take him sightseeing. I was pretty sure he hadn't reached when he said he did, it shouldn't have taken that long to find me because I was sitting right next to the window.

But yeah, it was seven minutes after he called that I actually saw him, and even though I didn't think it would feel strange because I've seen a lot of him in the past few weeks, he still makes me a nervous wreck every time his eyes are on me. He acted so lost when he sat down opposite to me. We talked about his life outside of San Francisco and mine inside it. I acted like I bought all of his bullshit.

When I kept staring at his camera as I sipped my tea –yes, the very camera he scared the hell out of me with –he told me that he wants to take a lot of pictures today. Interestingly, he sometimes paints the pictures he takes. I told him I'd like to see them someday and I hoped it didn't sound like something said just for conversation's sake, because I meant it; partly because way back in my mind, I was wondering what he'd done with that picture he took of me.

I have to admit, he's funny and I could learn to get comfortable around him. We went to the Golden Gate Bridge, I hadn't been there in years and when I told him that, he took pictures of me with it like I was the tourist. His hand brushed mine several times and absurdly, I felt it in my stomach, warm and tingly. It was almost five in the evening when we reached the piers, by then I knew that his favorite song was Fly Me to the Moon by Frank Sinatra. We ate ice cream and quite spontaneously decided to ride a carousel, another thing I hadn't done in a decade.

He took some more pictures at the beach, and while we were sitting on the sand, he told me that he's lived in San Francisco for four years and he left to live in New York to live with his mother when he was eleven. I didn't look at him, but I knew that this meant that this sightseeing wasn't required after all. After having repeated it through the entirety of the day in my head, I quietly asked him if this was date and he didn't even hesitate to tell me that it was.

We took a cab back home and when I turned to look at him, I thought he would kiss me, so I rushed out without even saying so much as a goodnight, still feeling the tingles in my fingers and toes and head and bones.

Ten minutes ago, he sent me a voicemail, awkwardly telling me that he had fun today. After re-wording it thrice, I texted him back saying I had fun too.

What I really wanted to do is to call him and tell him that I can't wait to see him again. I want to tell him that I wish I didn't get nervous and rush out of the car like that, that I wanted him to kiss me when he took my pictures at the Bridge, when our hands brushed, when pretended to be chasing me on the carousel, when kept glancing at me as we sat on the beach. I wanted to tell him that I hadn't laughed as much as I did today in months. Today was golden. And now as I lay in bed, listening to Frank Sinatra and writing this, constantly thinking about it, I know that I will never forget how today feels.