Page 39 of The Quit List
“Not the picture, too?”
I look good in that picture, I think. It was taken at Mindy’s wedding—I was dressed in a pale gold, shimmery floor-length dress with my hair in an updo. I’m clutching a bouquet and looking on at the vows being exchanged.
I’m not the most photogenic person in the world, but in this picture, my makeup looks great and my expression is pleasant. Neutral.
“You look like a bride.”
I wave my taco at him. “I was Maid of Honor!”
“So? That doesn’t tell me anything about you,” he insists.
“But I look good in it.”
“You always look good.”
His sweet comment—said in such an off-the-cuff, almost duh kinda way—catches me off guard, and I find myself without a snappy response. I look at him, and quick as lightning, he whips out his phone. Snaps a shot.
“Hey!” I yell, indignant. “Nobody wants to see a pic of me with taco grease dripping off my face and talking with my mouth full.”
He’s not even listening. He’s just smiling down at his phone screen.
“Ugh, delete it.”
He ignores me, and instead, turns the phone around. “Look at this. Seriously, Holly, I’d totally swipe right on this if I was on Spark.”
Timidly, I peek at the photo he’s taken.
Wow. The woman in the picture has hot sauce dripping down her hand and her ponytail is more windswept than chic, but her eyes are shining and her mouth is laughing. It’s not the most glamorous or smile-and-look-pretty photo in the world, but it looks like a snapshot of an actual moment in time. Like the photographer captured a candid of something real. Someone real who eats and breathes and laughs and loves.
“It’s… good.”
“Told you.”
“Ah,” I say, getting it now. “You buttered me up with that compliment so I’d look all sparkly and happy in the picture.”
“You would think that.” He raises a brow at me. “But was I right or was I right?”
“You were right,” I admit, then meet his eyes. “In fact, you’re damn good at this stuff. Remind me again why you’re not in the market for a relationship yourself?”
“Well, for one, the whole moving to the wilderness thing. And for two… I don’t want one.”
“Ever?”
“Probably not. I’m not that guy.” He gives me a smile that makes my heart a little stuttery. Weirdly. “But I am more than happy to help you find your perfect person.”
15
HOLLY
Last Christmas, Dylan kissed me at our staff party.
It was the first time we’d kissed since he kissed me goodbye after breaking up with me in college, and it made me think that this might finally be it. That he was telling me it was finally time for us to be together again, for real.
The party was taking place in an empty penthouse suite at the Pinnacle. Champagne flowed freely, someone had set up a karaoke machine, and it was the first time I’d seen Dylan let loose since he turned up half-drunk at my dorm room door one night in college, embarrassed he’d had a little too much to drink at his Choirboys Club social event.
That night at the Pinnacle staff party, almost a decade later, his cheeks were red as he belted out “I Kissed A Girl” by Katy Perry, his half-empty glass of sparkling wine sloshing over his hand as he gesticulated. The way he seemed to look right at me when he sang about kissing a girl, just to try it.
A little while later, I went out to the balcony for some fresh air, and he followed me. Told me I looked beautiful that night, that he couldn’t keep his eyes off me…