I hang my head; it feels too heavy to keep upright.
What even is this I’mfeeling? I used to be able to tamp this inconvenient stuff down with tequila, shopping sprees, spontaneous vacations. I guess without the spendy distractions I have to face my dilemmas head-on. Unfair, but necessary.
For a second, I think about shooting off a text to my therapist, booking a virtual appointment like they suggested when I left town, but before I can find their contact, Noelle is back.
I put my phone away.
It’s fine. It can wait.
“What was that car crash of a conversation?” Noelle asks, smacking me in the stomach with my own jacket. I stutter, but she holds up a hand. “You know what? Tell me on the way. I really am starving.”
***
“You did what, where?” Noelle shrieks from the opposite side of the booth.
It’s been ages since I set foot in a diner.
Where are the tasting menus, the required dining jackets, and the waitstaff dressed in matching cotton blends carrying full trays of gin and tonics, speared olives on the top of the glasses?
Here, gruff-looking gentlemen are hunched over poached eggs and steaming mugs at the counter. They grumble to one another about the news or the daily crossword. An out-of-service jukebox sits near the door and the vinyl booths, all done in a deep red, have seen better days. Tinfoil snowflakes hang from the ceiling by flimsy paper clips, and I nearly smacked my head on them when we came in.
In my leather Tom Ford jacket, black turtleneck, and Givenchy baseball cap, I turn heads. Even more so due to Noelle’s volume.
“Lower your voice. The whole damn town doesn’t need to know about it,” I say. Funny, considering back in New York I’d be worried about the whole world knowing. Now, I’m concerned about my reputation among the locals, needing—wanting, really—them to remain on my side for the gala to go off without a hitch.
“You just spilled some seriously hot tea, and you expect me to lower my voice? Matthew, get a grip! The holiday romance magic is alive and well!” She beams at me as if her psychic abilities have all been confirmed.
As usual, I roll my eyes at her.
Our waitress arrives in a frenzy of flipping order-pad pages. She’s got a weathered smile and chipped green fingernail polish. “I’m Ella. What can I get you both?” she asks, red pen at the ready.
I was so busy dishing out gossip that I didn’t even get a chance to open the comical, infinite accordion fold of the menu. Noelle reaches out a hand and snatches the laminated tome from my grasp before I get a chance to.
“We’ll take an order of Bedrock pancakes to share and two Cokes. We’re celebrating!” Noelle says.
“You got it, hun.”
Ella starts away and Noelle adds, “You’re going to love these. Just as much as you love Hector’s sweet, sweet kisses.” Her teasing is next level. Both annoying and lovely.
My nose twitches. My mind races. I’m back inside that storage unit. “It only happened twice.”
“Is it going to happenagain?” she asks, leaning in and batting her eyelashes. I suppose I owe her some juicy details after she shared the Natalia stuff.
“It shouldn’t, right?” I ask, exasperated. “I need to get this gala off the ground in exactly a week. I still need to call my contact in New York about the special effects for the Future exhibit. Grandma and I still need to sort through old gala photographs for my Past exhibit. The only present I should be concerned about is getting my Present exhibit finished.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Noelle says, toying with a ketchup bottle.
“Short answer: I don’t know.”
“Okay, fine. Long-answer me this: Do youwantit to happen again?”
It was heart-stoppingly surreal. Of course I want it to happen again. I haven’t felt this way with a guy in so long. Yet the more I contemplate the idea of kissing and touching him again, the more I fear the drama of it all would consume me.
I mean, he’s hung up on Natalia. I’m still nursing the wounds from Baz and Spencer. He’s hurting because he’s away from his family. My family is on the fritz. Insert romantic and definite sexual attraction into the mix, and you’ve got a recipe for major disaster. I’m already a walking, talking, bumbling hazard.
“What I want is kind of irrelevant right now. I’m leaving after this gala. That’s all I know for sure,” I say.
Noelle sighs, almost like she’ll be bummed when I leave. “Look, Hector is a snack and a half. He’s also a sweetheart. You better get your emotional ducks in a row because I may like you, but if you hurt him, I will rain down the flames of hell upon you.”
