- Conversation between Lola, age 18 and Roman, age 25
“He did what?!”
Varnish splatters onto my top, flying off the brush in Skyler’s hand as she spins to face me.
We’re sitting on the floor, varnishing the front of the coffee counter and, apparently, my T-shirt too. It’s an old, oversized one that I got in Vietnam, so I don’t really care but I’m tempted to flick varnish back at Skyler anyways.
“Don’t sound so surprised, will you? Is it really that unlikely that he’d kiss me?”
She rolls her eyes. “What’s unlikely is that the sexual tension between you two didn’t just combust and leave you walking bow-legged.”
Henry makes a distressed sound from where he’s fixing sections of the wooden world map to the wall.
I make a poor attempt of suppressing my smile and say, “What do you know about walking bow-legged?”
Skyler shrugs. “Just cause I’m all about the girls doesn’t mean we can’t?—”
“I’m begging you not to finish that sentence. Please.” Henry’s cheeks have turned a ruddy brown, his eyes wide.
Skyler and I burst into laughter. “How are you liking your first professional job, Henry?” I tease.
He pulls off his bandana and quirks a brow at me. “There is nothing professional about you, Lola.”
I cackle and my smile stays on my face even as we pull ourselves together and get back to work.
Henry was only joking but a couple of weeks ago, a comment like that would have sent me spiraling into self-doubt. I don’t know why I was a wild child, it’s not like I had any major trauma I was trying to process, I just had big ideas and no desire to play it safe.
The consequence of that though, was how everyone else perceived me, and what teenage me never realized is that opinions stick. Once a wild child, always a wild child.
But I own a freaking coffee shop now.
The flooring is all done—a beautiful beech wood paneling. The bottom half of the walls are layered with wooden slats while the tops are painted a blue so pale it’s almost white, and the light fittings are all in. There are five different ones hanging from the ceiling with various styles from across the world.
We still have a way to go. We’ve got to finish staining the counter and the coffee bars against the window, installthe kitchen counterspace and hook up all the equipment but everything is coming together.
We’re on track to open in two weeks and I’ve never been more excited in my life. I love the thrill I get from skydiving or white-water rafting, but this is on a different level entirely. I made this happen. I had an idea and worked for years to bring it to life and I’m literally watching it appear around me.
Yesterday I spent a whole ten minutes just staring at the shop front. The day before, a few hours after the kiss happened, Roman and, in a complete plot twist, Mase, came and put up the sign he’d made for me.
I’d spent the rest of the evening drawing the mountain and forest design onto the windows with a chalk pen and playing every second of the moments leading up to the kiss over and over in my head.
Even after four hours lost in thought as the sun set on Main Street and the old-fashioned streetlamps flickered on, I still couldn’t figure it out. I spent six years chasing adventure, but nothing made me feel as alive as kissing Roman. It was like parts of me I didn’t even know existed woke up and started screaming for attention.
The real kicker though, the reason I’m so mad at myself for letting the kiss happen, isn’t the way my heart pumped, or my skin heated, it’s the fact that being in Roman’s arms felt right. I felt settled in a way I’m not sure I ever have before. My constant desire for excitement fell away because all I needed in that moment was Roman.
And I’m terrified I’m never going to have him like that again.
It’s been two days now and nothing but radio silence from Roman. My inner teenager was stressed I might jinx it by saying it out loud, but I caved because I need help decoding the whole, crushing mess.
“He was mad that I’d lied about not remembering that night,” I say. “Like never seen him that angry mad.”
Skyler rests her paintbrush on the tray and leans back on her hands. “Bad angry?”
I bite my lip. “Hot angry.”
Skyler smirks.
I sigh, remembering the way my core clenched as I realized my mistake. As his heated eyes burned into mine. “Should we be more concerned that we’re apparently attracted to toxic traits?”
