Page 16 of The Quit List
Aubrey pushes her glasses up onto her head and rubs her eyes. She does this when she’s thinking, choosing her next words carefully.
“Holly,” she says finally. “Have you considered that you might not have to go searching for the one right away, either? Maybe a fling with someone like this Jax guy is actually what you need right now. Take this pressure off yourself about the end goal and enjoy the journey. Enjoy flirting and dancing and kissing, even, and just seeing where it goes.”
I almost laugh. “‘Seeing where it goes’ is not in the Dictionary of Holly.”
Growing up, I was always the responsible one in my family. Mindy was funny and wild and had all the boys chasing her, while I was always planning for every eventuality in my life—to the relief of our parents, who were glad to have one daughter with a sensible life plan who didn’t cause them sleepless nights.
My plan was to get my Hospitality degree, secure a job in my field, then get married. I scripted everything for myself, and when I met Dylan, he seemed to fill the right role in my script. So much so, that I didn’t really consider anything else—whether I wanted to travel, or have adventures, or maybe even flirt and dance and kiss a little, as Aubrey said.
I loved Dylan, and I believed his promise that one day, we would be together. And when I first got my job at the Pinnacle, everything seemed to be going according to plan.
But now, the plan has gone very much awry, and I’m out here on the dating scene with my list of resolutions, trying to find an alternate plan at the last minute.
So Aubrey is incorrect. Now is not the time for self-discovery and fun. Now is the time for action.
“I don’t want to see where it goes… I just need a new plan,” I tell Aubrey with renewed vigor, the cogs of my mind turning back to something a certain sexy bartender said earlier tonight. I have a date lined up for next weekend—same place, same time—but maybe we should do a walk or a coffee, instead. Lower the stakes.
Or, at the very least, make it easier to run away if he starts monologuing about carb loading or anti-feminist propaganda.
Aubrey rolls her eyes. “You would say that.”
“I would,” I agree.
But I’m not wrong.
When at first you don’t succeed… do better.
6
JAX
Orlagh took the news of my resignation well.
If you consider “taking it well” to be her throwing a (full) cup of coffee at the wall and yelling “Don’t leave me with Dante to man the bar!”
However, slowly but surely, she’s come around to the idea. I gave her six weeks’ notice—plenty of time to find a replacement for me to train. And it allows me to get some of my affairs in order and to start tackling my list of to-do’s.
Between my bartending shifts, I’ve been spending a lot of time at the cabin working on renovations, and it’s really starting to come together. The next big job will be the front deck, and I have a feeling I won’t be able to do it alone.
I’ve also (reluctantly) started looking into some PR and marketing companies, but honestly I have no idea where to start.
Which is why I’m finally carving out some time to get lunch this afternoon with my sister Maddie and her husband, in the hope that she might be able to help with some of this marketing and social media stuff.
And as for Morris’s final piece of advice—getting more guiding experience? I did manage to take Laurel to the wilderness last week and, well…
I should have known that the excursion would not go well the moment I saw her pointy red manicure.
And I should have decided to call the whole thing off when she proceeded to don a life jacket, decorated with no less than six sets of bear bells, on top of her hiking gear.
“A life jacket?!” Maddie presses her lips together after I share this fun little tidbit. “Please don’t tell me you were anywhere close to raging whitewater!”
I shake my head soberly. “Nope. Middle of the woods.”
She snorts, and then eyes my forearms, which are currently sliced up with angry red scratches. “And are you going to tell us what happened, or am I just to believe you got mauled by a cougar?”
“There aren’t any cougars in Georgia.”
“Then tell me what happened,” Maddie wheedles like she’s seven years old again and begging me to play with her. Back then, she always insisted on using my GI Joes as her Barbie dolls’ boyfriends—Ken didn’t cut it, apparently.