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I’ve seen all the signs before. The clenched fists. The avoidance of eye contact. The way he brushes a hand over his mouth, as if he can erase the taste of me from his lips.
My heart sinks.
What did you think would happen if you kissed him?
ExceptIdidn’t kiss him.
Well, you sure didn’tnotkiss him.
He runs a hand through his hair. “Alana…”
I’m not sure what triggers me more: the way he uses my full name to add some distance or how he can’t look me in the eyes while saying it. I save myself the trouble of having to hear him come up with some kind of excuse, mostly because I’m not sure my heart can survive it. “Let’s pretend that never happened.”
“But—”
“We both got lost in the moment. It’s no big deal.”
“Right.” His heavy exhale of relief drills a hole straight through my heart.
“Can I have a cupcake?” Cami’s voice sounds closer this time.
I look down at the smashed one on the floor with a sigh. “I better go…”
I pathetically linger, hoping he might saysomething.
He doesn’t.
Instead of standing around, waiting for a possibility that won’t ever happen, I turn and walk away. The emptiness in my chest grows with each step away from him.
I spent years trying to fill the void Cal left me with when he abandoned me the first time, and I’m not about to let one kiss ruin all my hard work.
No matter how amazing that kiss was.
Cal disappears back to the guesthouse, leaving me alone to replay our kiss in a hundred different ways. I somehow finish up the rest of the cupcakes, although the task becomes far less enjoyable now that I can’t separate Cal from the taste of guava icing.
Shame clings to my every thought, making me question if I was the only one truly affected by the kiss.
Of course he was affected.
He just didn’twantto be.
I try to distract myself from my thoughts by watching a new episode of one of my favorite shows. It works for about ten minutes. Once the couple begins kissing, I lose all interest in continuing. Instead, I quickly switch to watching a procedural crime drama I have been following for the last few years.
Nothing screams comfort television quite like unhinged serial killers.
My phone vibrates against the coffee table, so I unlock it and read the text Delilah sent in our group chat with Violet.
Delilah
Check out who is watching the latest episode of The Last Rose with me.
She attaches a photo of her and Wyatt wearing face masks with the TV in the background. I’m not into that kind of reality TV, but the thought of having someone like that who wants to watch a favorite show with me makes my chest twinge. Delilah’s life is a far cry from my lonely night watching TV by myself.
Then do something about it.
The thought of dating scares me almost as much as the idea of ending up alone. But if I continue to live in fear of what could go wrong, I’ll spend the rest of my life by myself, reciting lines from a TV show by heart.
I deserve more than that for myself, and I plan on getting back out there.
