Page 41 of Let's Kiss and Tell

“And me pretending to have a girlfriend in front of all my friends and familyisn’tembarrassing for me?”

I open the notes app on my phone and place it in his hand.

Marsh studies the screen, the bright light glaring off his glasses. I try to remember all the things on the list:meet each other’s families, go furniture shopping, evening walk along the beach, talk about future, celebrate a birthday together.

“This is…” he says.

“Stupid?”

“No,” he says, eyes still scanning my notes. “We can do all of these.”

There’s a warm feeling in my stomach that I’m not used to having. “Really?” I ask.

“Yeah, the only thing is that it’s not my birthday until November. When’s yours?”

“It just passed, but that’s okay! I only put that down in caseyours happened to fall under this month,” I say, and Marsh passes me back my phone.

As we pay for our bill and walk toward our cars, there’s something about how our bodies match each other’s rhythm. The way we mirror each other’s steps, swaying back and forth, slightly bumping arms every few seconds as we walk down Sixth.

“This is me.” I stop in front of my white Jeep.

“I’m the Bronco.” He nods toward a black SUV a few cars down.

“Well, this was fun,” I say, really meaning it.

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.” I walk around to my side of the car and get in the driver’s seat. Marsh is still standing on the sidewalk, and I open the window to the passenger’s side.

“Okay, I need to ask one question.” He takes a step closer and ducks his head to view me.

“Shoot.”

“Do you have any more copies of those feet pics?”

“Oh my god!” I burst out laughing.

“Look, I just thought I’d ask. You know, for research.”

“Goodbye, Marsh.”

“Goodbye, Lucy.” He laughs and starts walking toward his car.

8

Lucy

Contrary to popular belief, Los Angeles does in fact have seasons: sunny, cloudy, hot,really hot,and the occasional rainy. The temperature varies only between a ten-degree window, but thereareseasons. Sometimes, you get all in the same day. For instance, this morning there’s a little bit of overcast over West Hollywood, but by elevena.m.it will be bright and sunny.

I park on Melrose—thank you, free Sunday parking—and pull my gym bag onto my lap. When I get out of the car, I adjust my bicycle shorts and tug on the sleeves of my oversize crewneck sweater. I give my high ponytail a little yank to tighten it, and that’s when I see Marsh walking from the opposite end of the street, the view of the Fairfax flea market starting to get situated behind him. I didn’t think it was possible for him to not be dressed up like he’s posing for a Ralph Lauren photoshoot but here he is, wearing running shoes, basketball shorts, and a gray crewneck similar to mine.

He doesn’t have his glasses on, and my curiosities have been put to rest. Marshall Oakley looks equally attractive with his glasses on and off.

I gesture my hand up to his face. “Okay, contacts.”

He lets out a breath. “Yeah, definitely not going to box with glasses on.”

“You look good,” I say and then instantly regret my lack of creativity. But I’m kind of distracted by the gold flecks in his eyes.Are those real?