Page 40 of The Quit List

And then, he kissed me.

It was the first time we’d kissed in years, and it felt familiar. Cozy.

After the kiss, he chucked my chin, told me I was cute, and walked inside. I’m not sure how the act of kissing led to my demotion from beautiful to cute, but I didn’t think too much of it at the time. Because it was finally happening!

We could work together, and be together, and have our happily ever after.

My patience had paid off and my plan was finally back in motion.

The next morning, though, I came into work and was met with All-Business-Dylan. I figured he was putting on a front for our coworkers, trying to keep things hush-hush until we had a chance to talk about what happened.

I sought out a moment alone with him, and I was surprised when he simply smiled blandly at me and said, “good party last night, right?” He then made a comment about how drunk he’d been and how he didn’t make a habit of having crazy nights like that.

I wasn’t drunk the night before—a little tipsy off a couple glasses of wine maybe, but not drunk.

Did Dylan not remember our kiss? Or, even more mortifying, was I so out of practice he thought me a terrible kisser?

I opened my mouth, the words “about what happened” on my tongue, when Dylan snapped his briefcase shut and announced that he was off to meet with the hotel’s owner about the new marketing hire he’d just made. A marketing hire who was not me.

And in that moment, I realized this was not our time.

Whatever that kiss meant to me, it clearly didn’t mean the same to him, and I was sick of waiting for something that might never happen.

I needed to stop chasing the idea of Dylan and me being together for real, and start taking control of my own life.

Because I could only wait so long.

“All done for the day, Holly?” Dylan says now as he walks into the break room at the Pinnacle, clutching his briefcase in one hand and a coffee in the other.

I startle a little, snapped out of my thoughts, and quickly re-balance the laptop that’s currently perched on my lap.

“Woah, there.” Dylan laughs that deep, silky laugh I know so well. “Better not be our Pinnacle laptop you’re playing around with!”

I laugh along with him. The joke is that the Guest Services staff only have one laptop between the four of us to use when one of us needs to work from home. So yes, breaking the laptop would be a problem. “It isn’t, I brought my personal one.” I shift a little on my chair. “And yes, I’ve just clocked out for the day. I’m finishing a little research I started on my break before I head home.”

“Working above and beyond, Holly. Well done.”

I look up at him, blush a little. “Oh, no. It’s a… personal matter.”

Dylan takes a sip of his coffee. “I understand.” His hazel eyes then do a quick sweep of me. “Looking good today, by the way.”

My blush deepens, but at that moment, my phone pings with a message from Jax.

So, any thoughts? Love it or hate it?

I smile as I finish up the email I’m writing to him with said thoughts.

It’s been a few days since Jax and I met in the park for lunch, and we’ve been chatting quite a bit via text about his business and my dating profile. Which looks great now with my new photos and a bio that reads “looking for my perfect match.”

Apparently, this is better and “less desperate” than the whole looking for a soulmate thing. But it’s still a work in progress.

Now, I’ve agreed to take a look at the website a designer is putting together for his business—complete with one of the booking systems I recommended—and offer him some feedback. I might not know much about site design, but I know a hell of a lot about what potential customers might be looking for to make a booking.

The site is just okay, in my opinion. I know it’s only a beta version, but my main feedback is that it could be more immersive. Experiential.

I’m picturing a video of a gorgeous mountainscape on the homepage, photos of Jax leading expeditions, recommended itineraries that incorporate the senses… All alongside pictures of the accommodations, the flora and fauna, and meals cooked over an open fire. Or whatever it is he cooks on.

I’m so immersed in my email to Jax that I hardly notice Dylan taking a seat in the chair next to mine.