Maybe if I weren’t coming off the best date of my life, I would have.
Maybe I would have declined if Webb hadn’t had that hopeful look in his eyes, the one that made my heart feel all soft and squishy.
Maybe if he’d given me any cause to doubt him, I would have clung to that as a reason to say no.
But aside from being a bit bossy, which I’ve been known to be myself from time to time—an unfortunate necessity when you’re a stage manager—I’ve yet to find any glaring red flags.
And honestly, putting all of that aside, there was another big part of me that wanted to accept.
So I did.
And now I’m dashing around my apartment trying to finish getting ready, feeling a heck of lot more nervous than I’d be if I were just hanging out with friends. I’ve changed my outfit five times and redone my hair twice. I put on a full face of makeup before washing it off; having decided that if Webb liked me at the diner with nothing more than tinted moisturizer and a light application of mascara, it wouldn’t make sense to wear more.
Would I go through all this if my feelings for Webb were only platonic?
Well, duh. Obviously not.
After I’ve checked myself out in the mirror above my dresser for the umpteenth time, I sternly order myself to go sit down. With fears of rogue hairs sticking straight from the top of my head and missed toothpaste stains on the floral sundress I finally settled on, I force myself over to the couch and flop onto it with an exasperated sigh.
I glance at my phone to check the time, sighing again when I realize I still have another ten minutes to kill. Ten minutes to agonize over my outfit or if I should wear the olive-colored eyeshadow that’s supposed to make the gold in my eyes pop. Ten minutes to wonder if I’m doing the right thing when the rest of my life is such?—
No. I’m going to have a nice time tonight. I’m not letting Ken ruin something else for me.
So instead of beelining back to the mirror like I want to, I text Jaz instead.
Hey. Tell me not to check my hair again. And that a sundress is perfectly fine to wear at night.
Less than thirty seconds later, her reply appears.
Leave your hair alone. And it’s summer. What else would you wear? Jeans and a sweater?
I quickly type out my response.
But it’s evening. Maybe a sundress is too… daytime? And I left my hair down. We’re supposed to be grilling out on the deck. What if it gets windy and my hair ends up looking like a giant bird’s nest?
Several seconds pass.
Noelle. Your hair is gorgeous. You’re gorgeous. I’m sure you look amazing. Don’t worry.
Before I can respond, she sends another text.
Off topic, but have you thought any more about coming out to New York and looking for a job out here?
I’m already shaking my head as I message her back.
Thanks, but that’s okay. I like the West Coast. And I’m sure I’ll find something soon.
Three dots blink.
Okay. But if you change your mind…
I won’t. Especially with this whole mess with Ken still going on. If I go to New York to stay with Jaz, that’ll put a target on her back, which is the last thing I want.
That’s why I didn’t tell her what Ken did, either. If she knew, there’s no way she’d let it go. She’d insist on trying to take him down, which I’ve already learned is impossible. A conflict with Ken, who’sverywell known in the theater community, would only end up hurting Jaz’s career. So as much as I hate lying to her, it was safer to give her a half-truth, which was that I quit the company due to professional differences.
I mean, technically, that’s true. I didn’t agree with Ken secretly filming me at my workplace. He thought it was okay. If that’s not a professional disagreement, I’m not sure what is.
Realizing Jaz is still waiting for my response, I send one more message.
