Avery,
Ok—we are DEFINITELY getting somewhere. I like the new version you sent us SO much better.
Please proceed with the rest of the website pages using this approach. The rest of the team would like to see a draft ASAP.
Best,
Leslie
Relief washes through me. I’m finally getting somewhere. I don’t know if it’s because of the time I’ve been spending with Logan, or the ocean air that’s finally filled my bloodstream, or just a matter of perseverance, but I’m starting to think I can actually finish this project without getting asked for a refund—which I would be unable to provide, in either case.
With an extra boost of motivation from this feedback, I settle down and write. It’s a bit difficult at first; from time to time I start wondering exactly when Sophie will end up here. That, or I’ll think back to the way Logan dodged my questions. But eventually, I’m able to reach the elusive flow state from which I create my best work.
Something I haven’t been able to do for a long, long time.
Before I know it, it’s already 5:30 p.m. and I’m rushing to get ready before Logan arrives. Now I’m much more nervous than the first time we went for dinner. Last time, we went as old friends. Now, we’re going as … what, exactly? I don’t know, but I do know one thing:
This is very obviously going to be a date.
Maybe the last time had even been a date.
Ugh, I don’t know.
I look at my reflection in the tiny bathroom, not sure what to do with myself. My hair dried weird from falling asleep on it wet yesterday, and I don’t have any more time left for a shower. Instead of trying to tame the weird kinks, I brush through them and tie my hair back into a messy-but-cute bun. Then I pull out a few strands to frame my face. Not too bad.
Next, I get changed into a yellow floral dress that’s supposed to be a mini dress but reaches a bit below the knees on me. A few final flicks of mascara, and I’m ready.
I look at myself one last time, satisfied. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I can call myself beautiful. I guess seeing a man succumb to your charms twice in less than twelve hours will do that to you.
I’ve got a few minutes left, so I take out my phone and start texting Dad.
I’m sure you would have called it Dad, but I think Logan and I are a thing? I haven’t felt this happy in ages. Even when I was with Jasper. This is different. I can actually be with myself around him and he never says any offhand comments. He doesn’t mind the family curse. It’s like he was created to counter it, you know? To soothe my anxiety.
I hit send and let out a deep breath. At this point, I’m not expecting anything back. But I still feel like I have to try.
I hear knocking, and my heart skips a beat. Only then do I realize how much I’ve been holding back on the feeling of missing Logan for the entire day. I nearly run to the door.
On the other side is Logan, wearing a black short-sleeved button-down shirt that makes his sun-tanned skin pop. In one hand, he’s holding a bouquet of flowers. They’re lilies.
“I was hoping they’re still your favourite,” he says, handing the bouquet over to me. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, inhaling their sweet aroma. It’s going to be okay.
“They are,” I confirm with a smile. “They’re beautiful, Logan. Thank you.” From his demeanour, it seems like the weird mood he was in this morning is gone. I’m hoping it was just a fluke.
After I place my flowers in a vase inside, we make our way back to the lodge by foot to find Logan’s car. He’s taking me back to The Coastal Kitchen, but this time he says we’re going to take advantage of their patio. Apparently, we can spot the ocean from there. I don’t know how I didn’t realize they had a patio the first time we came, because I’ll choose a patio over any indoor seating when I can.
We have a drink, then two. I order the shrimp pesto pasta again because I decide I love myself and want to enjoy nice things. Once again, he’s greeted by the staff and some regulars, but this time when a middle-aged man remarks about bringing his girlfriend, his reply is different:
“This is Avery,” he says, beaming right at me.
Not ‘Oh, she’s just a friend,’ not ‘Oh, no, it isn’t like that,’—he just lets the girlfriend comment slide right past us without discomfort or awkwardness.
And when he inevitably gets asked to play the piano, he looks at me and asks if that’s okay. Of course I want to hear him play. The last time I heard him play was the moment I realized how I felt about him.
But something else goes through me at that moment. A moment of boldness. I have no idea what I’m thinking when I say out loud:
“I should sing!”
Unfortunately, I’m not a singer. Well, okay—my voice is cute, and I can sing in tune, so I’m not a complete racket. But I’m far from pop star material, and I’ve always known that. Despite all that, I just love singing my head off. And tonight, something makes me want to live fully and express myself.
