Page 74 of Let's Kiss and Tell

“It’s called lighting and angles.” I wipe my hands on a napkin.

“You’re just so beauti—” he stops and stares at the screen. I’m positive he’s come across my bikini photo in Tulum. “Uh, Chris just texted you.” He hands my phone back to me.

“What?” My face drops. I quickly take my phone and see another text notification come up at the top.

Chris:

Dinner tomorrow?

My face goes crimson and I pull up our conversation, bracing myself for the text Marsh saw before that.

Chris:

I miss you. Come over tonight

“Shit.” I shove my phone back in my pocket. “I’m sorry you saw that.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says dismissively.

Marsh isn’t asking for an explanation, but I feel like I owe him one. “Chris is just a guy that—”

“It’s none of my business,” Marsh says, taking a final bite of his grilled cheese.

“Yeah, but…” I hesitate with the second half of my thought. “I want to tell you my business. Iliketelling you my business.”

When I say it, it’s like I’m suddenly stripped and exposed. It’s something I can’t take back, and whatever cool, sexy version of Lucy Marsh sees probably no longer exists. BecausethatLucy didn’t need to tell anyone anything. She didn’t care what others thought and she definitely doesn’t need a man.

“Well, good.” Marsh takes a sip of his wine. “Because I like hearing it.”

I smile. “So, are we ready to watch a love story between a hooker and a millionaire?”

“Let’s do it.”

We get comfortable on Marsh’s couch, which, I will say, is a very comfy couch. He makes us both decaffeinated English Breakfast tea and gives me a pair of his socks. There’s something natural about how we fall into place, both in the middle of the sofa. My legs curl up underneath me, and his long ones prop up on the coffee table. What feels unnatural is the way I’m mindful of his every move. Like I’m anticipating each breath he takes. It almost reminds me of when I was in middle school and went to watchTwilightwith a group of friends. Wes, a boy I had a crush on, sat beside me and I waited the entire movie for him to reach over and hold my hand. He never did.

Before the movie starts, my focus shifts to a figurine sitting above the fireplace. “What’s that?”

“Oh,” Marsh says, looking at the bright orange molded figure, “that’s a clementine.”

“I didn’t know you were such a fan of fruit,” I say.

“It, uh, it was supposed to be a gift…” Marsh trails off. “For my daughter.”

I sit up and look at him, confused. “You have a daughter?”

“No.” Marsh shakes his head. “Julia had a miscarriage after three months.” He tips his face to the fireplace, somberly consumed by the orange model. “But after our first ultrasound appointment, we found out it was a girl and I was so excited,” Marsh says. “I wanted to get the baby a gift. Anything really. There was an old antique store in Pasadena by the hospital, and I walked in and saw it.” He looks at the figurine. “It was sitting on the top shelf next to all this junk and it was practically glowing and I said that’s it. That’s her. Her name is Clementine.”

“Marsh…” I place my hand on his arm. This detail cementing a crack in my heart and now painting a picture of a man I’m growing to really care about. There’s something in Marsh that I see in myself; a pain behind those thick rimmed glasses and hazel eyes when he talks about his personal life. “I’m so sorry I asked.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. It was years ago,” Marsh says. “You can always ask me anything you want.”

“Is that why you got…”

“A vasectomy?” Marsh offers, and I nod. “Yeah, I, uh…I just couldn’t deal with the idea of going through that again.”

I sit with this information. Marsh has been able to heal since that time, but just finding this out causes my heart to lodge in my stomach. “Thank you for telling me that,” I say softly.

“Thank you for listening,” he says.