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She smiles softly, reaching out to run a finger along the edges of the design, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.
“This—” I run my fingers around the bright sunflower below the trident “—was Wendy’s favorite flower.” Holley nods in the low light, pulling her hand back and away from my arm, and without thinking, I reach out and pull it back, using her fingers to trace the rest of the designs. “This one is for Chloe, a sunrise over a turquoise sky, because she was the light beyond the clouds, and she was born in December.” I can feel the buzz of Holley’s heart in her fingers, the blood zinging wildly enough to make them pulse. “The astronaut with the flag is a really more of an inside joke with myself—a milestone tattoo for planting my flag in new territory by starting my own business—and the spilling ink at the bottom is a canvas, just waiting for the rest of the story to be written.”
Holley’s quiet, but the volume of her emotions is dialed up loud enough for me to feel.
Sitting there, together, with nobody and nothing around us, the sky starts to feel a whole lot less huge. Like the stars above us and the inky blackness of beyond are all just greater pawns in the creation of this moment between us.
My body sways toward hers, drawn to the current tethering us together. She follows suit, leaning in toward me to meet me in the middle.
My heart thrums in my chest and my stomach dances with possibility, but a car honks a horn on the street, yanking Holley’s attention away harshly. The emotional band between us snaps, breaking apart right in the center and allowing reality to invade.
I know it was real—that the moment between us existed—because my heart still beats with the same intensity. But for Holley, our bubble has burst. When she looks back, she clears her throat and pulls her notebook out of her bag to get back to business.
My chest deflates immediately.
“So…” she starts, opening up to the page with Lydia’s name at the top, and taking out a pen. “Did anything else happen on the date tonight that I need to know about for the article?”
On a sigh, I fall back into the sand and look up at the sky, trying to gather my thoughts. Thoughts about a date I can barely put together a sentence to describe; thoughts about why I wanted that moment with Holley to continue so badly. “Not really. What you saw is what you got, I’d say.”
Lydia is an attractive, bubbly woman whom I have zero interest in. What I remember about our date is waiting for it to end.
And for this time with Holley to start…
That world-shaking thought makes my chest grow tight, but Holley is completely oblivious, currently focused on the notebook in her lap.
She hums, making a few notes on the page and flips to the next one. “All right then, what do you want to do for your next date?”
Nothing. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.
The mere idea of another date feels absurd—completely contrarian to my feelings right now. Feelings that are very much rooted in the woman sitting beside me. I breathe through the matrix of emotions and try to act like my mind isn’t fucking reeling.
“Who’s…uh…who’s this date with?” I force myself to ask.
Holley starts to dig around in her bag, no doubt pulling out Date Number Four’s file.
I hear the sound of a folder being opened, and I almost roll my eyes. I don’t, though. I wait patiently as she scrolls through it, listening to the ebb and flow of her smooth voice. For as much as I don’t know what to make of my current dating situation, the calming effect of Holley’s presence on me is undeniable.
“Let’s see. Her name is Elle, which is cute. And she’s a pastry chef.” As the words she’s reading hit her, she breaks into her information with excitement. “Ooh! I wonder if she knows how to make donuts!”
“Maybe you should date her instead of me.”
“Very funny.” She reaches out to smack a playful hand against my shoulder. “Anyway, what do you think you want to do with her?”
I consider it for a moment, but when nothing comes to mind, she offers up something for me.
“How about a cooking class?” she asks. “That might be really fun.”
“Sure.” I act like I’m on board. Honestly, I’d probably agree to anything just to have Holley keep talking.
“Great. I’ll get that set up.” She scribbles something in her notebook. “And while we’re at it, we should go ahead and figure out what you want to do for your fifth and final date.”
I turn my head at the sound of her voice—an unmistakable, nervous timbre that says there’s more to this story.
“And why is that?”
