She gives a shrug. “It’s an imperfect science.”
I’m laughing as I pour the hot water. We bring the tea out together. Rowan and Harry have moved on to discussing socks. I mean this literally.
“The average person loses over twelve hundred socks in their lifetime,” Harry says.
“But where do they go?” Rowan asks, an expression of baffled wonder on his face.
Yeah, I think we’re all going to get along fine together.
* * *
Harry agrees to move in just after Thanksgiving, which is happening next week at Rory and Bryn’s house. Bryn sent me the menu, and there’s no way I’m going over there without at least half a dozen Tupperware containers for leftovers.
I also told her I had some news on the Cole front, so now we’re getting lunch tomorrow to discuss it. Maybe she’s spending too much time around her CEO man, because it was not posed as a request or an invitation.
Rowan and I video-called Willow to break the news about Harry, and she took it like a champ. Then again, Rowan didn’t mention that he’s been fantasizing about sabotaging the show to ensure there’s no Season 2.
Through it all, I was distracted. My mind is on that flower.
Wants me. Doesn’t want me. Wants me. Doesn’t want me.
It’s on Cole and the way he can make me unfurl with a simple touch. Laugh with a simple joke. Light up with a simple glance.
My bed feels cold at night, and I toss and turn, thinking about Cole and that flower and Jane and the fact that it suddenly feels like I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, even though the app I dreamed up is finally going to be a thing.
When my phone lights up, I’m more than ready for a distraction.
Cole:Holly, there’s something I have to say.
I sit bolt upright in bed, my heart thumping as I see those three little telltale dots on the screen.
Cole:What you said the other day, about how you thought we were going to be friends in high school…it got me thinking. I was a real shit to you in high school. I shouldn’t have ignored you like I did.
It’s about the last thing I expected him to say. I was thinking…I was fearing he was about to go allthis was a mistakeon me. In my mind, the best-case scenario was that he’d ask what I was wearing and want some sexy talk.
Me:He admits it, AT LAST.
Cole:I’m capable of admitting I’m wrong.
Me:There has been literally no sign of that.
Cole:It’s been brought to my attention lately that I’m not great at communicating and telling people how I feel. I’m trying to be better.
My heart is in danger of beating out of my chest, or maybe just bursting.
It almost feels like this is too good to be true. It makes me feel a little hypocritical, thinking like that, because didn’t I tell Bryn a million times, back when she was with her boring, white-bread boyfriend Matt, that she shouldn’t settle for less than what she wanted?
Now she has a hot billionaire fiancé, so I’m going to go ahead and call that solid advice.
Besides, although Hot Rod turned out to be a flaming bag of dog shit, who either decided to stand me up for no reason or was too repelled by my face or my face on hot wings to even introduce himself, I can’t deny that I enjoyed having some deeper conversations with him via messaging.
Like Cole, I’ve never been good at tearing my chest open and showing people my beating heart. It’s easier to be open with people when you don’t have to look at them. It’s easier when you can put your feelings into writing rather than say them out loud and listen to your own voice exposing you.
Me:So noted. This is probably where I should tell you that I was an asshole too. I guess I thought you were going to ask me out after that afternoon in the woods. It fucked with my ego when you retreated on me.
Something becomes clear to me at that moment. Growing up, my siblings and I never had attention from anyone, really, unless we did something really good or really bad. Doing the really good things was easy for Bryn—it was second nature—but while I had some academic accomplishments, they weren’t of the variety that anyone in my family cared about. So sometimes I sought out negative attention because at least it was still attention.
Christ, if that isn’t a crap self-revelation.
