Page 118 of Let's Kiss and Tell

“Right,” I say.

“It was a stupid idea anyway, right?” Lucy says.

“Yeah,” I say. “It was.” We stay in place, looking anywhere but at each other. “This won’t change anything with the story,” I say. “You can still be an expert on it—”

“Marsh, it’s fine.” Lucy cuts me off. “I think it’s better if you find someone else.”

I don’t really have anything else to say or have the effort to convince her to keep working together. “Okay.”

“So, I guess this is it.” She extends her hand to me. “Good luck.”

I stare at her hand like it’s a grenade but shake it anyway.

“Good luck to you too, Lucy.”

22

Lucy

I don’t bother waiting until Marsh gets in the car. I walk as fast as I can and shut the front door of my apartment behind me. My throat feels tight and my lips begin to tremble, but I pull it together.

This is the best option. Things were starting to get messy. Marsh is coming off a breakup—albeit a breakup that happened a year ago—but Marshall Oakley doesn’t know how to be with someone like me.

Maybe a Lucy with rose-colored glasses could be honest and say that last night reallydidmean something. That whatever happened between us was unlike anything I’ve experienced. That there was a connection that I didn’t think was possible. That I’m choosing to ignore all of that because I don’t want to become like my parents, like him and Julia, like all of the other people I know who get their hearts broken.

But I’m not that Lucy.

What I felt last night was something unfamiliar to me, and I frankly don’t know how to navigate those feelings. Not seeing Marsh anymore is best for the both of us.

It’s better this way.

After I unpack and take another shower, I slump onto my couch and put on an episode ofThe Shield.The gritty cop drama makes me feel at home, and I oddly have a sense of comfort watching Detective Vic Mackey make sense of the chaotic world we live in.

There’s a knock at the door and I glance at my phone. It’s almost ten-thirtyp.m.Frowning, I get up to look through the peephole. Letting out an exhausted sigh, I open it.

“It’s ten-thirty,” I say.

Chris stands in front of me, hands in his pockets. “You’re not sleeping.”

“What if I was?” I step aside, letting him in. I’m far too exhausted, mentally and physically, to put up a fight.

“Then you wouldn’t have answered.” He walks in, kicking off his shoes. If there’s one thing I taught Chris, it’s that Ido notallow outdoor shoes inside my home.

“What are you doing here?” I sit on the couch and turn off the TV.

“I missed you.” He sits beside me. “You haven’t responded all weekend.”

“I was in San Francisco.”

“What were you doing there?”

“It was a work thing,” I reply, dismissing him.

Chris frowns. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just had a stressful week, that’s all.”

“Want to lie down?” he asks.