As much as I would love to continue our practice date, the altercation with Jeremy undeniably put a damper on the evening. Between that and the kiss, my emotions feel all twisted up inside me, and I have no idea what to say. When Ethan asks if I’m ready to head home, I simply nod.
The car ride back to my apartment is mostly silent. Music hums softly in the background, and Ethan taps his thumb rhythmically on the steering wheel as giant mansions give way to modest suburbs around us. It’s a twenty-minute drive back to my apartment near downtown, where the sound of traffic will probably keep me up for a while. Ethan’s neighborhood is so quiet, but I suppose that luxury requires a steep price tag.
“Sorry I’m being quiet again,” I eventually say.
Ethan takes a few seconds to respond. “There are two types of silence: awkward and comfortable.”
“Which one is this?” I ask, uncertain after everything that’s happened tonight.
He glances over at me, a gentle smile flickering at the edge of his mouth. “The second one.”
I relax against the leather seat, letting the silence wash over us again. He’s right—it feels comfortable with him, probably because we’ve known each other so long. If only I could skip ahead to the comfortable type of silence with all of my dates.
I’m disappointed that our practice date was cut short. I could use more of Ethan’s expertise. But if Jeremy hadn’t shown up, Ethan would never have kissed me.
No one’s ever kissed me like that. It’s a kiss that will linger indefinitely in some cozy corner of my brain, the standard by which all future kisses will be measured.
I’m just not sure if that’s a good thing or not.
When we pull up to my apartment, Ethan walks me up the stairs. He keeps a respectable distance as I fish for my keys in my purse and unlock the door. I pause awkwardly, wondering what the hell the right thing to say is after a fake date, an unforgettable kiss, and an altercation with my ex. Is there some charming send-off that perfectly encapsulates all of these things?
Probably not.
When I turn to look at Ethan, his eyes are already fixed on me. The look on his face is undecipherable, which is odd because I thought I knew all of his looks by now. For the briefest moment, I wonder if he might kiss me again. A flicker of hope rises in my chest, but fades the moment that he says, “Good night, Margot.”
“Good night, Ethan.”
Neither of us moves for another fraction of a second, but the tiny ray of lingering hope in my chest dims when Ethan turns and disappears down the stairs.
16
Ethan
“Capri pants, Ethan! Can you believe that?” Joan, the head of our clothing division, practically yells into the phone.
Having no idea what capri pants are, I’m not sure if I believe this or not. All I know is that Joan sounds displeased.
“And that’s… bad?” I ask.
“It’s very bad. No one wears capri pants anymore! How am I supposed to sell through ten gaylords of them?!”
I have no idea what this problem is or how to solve it.
When we hired Joan, I made it clear that I wanted to be more involved with the clothing division. The last department head took our brand in the wrong direction, and I wanted to make sure that the problem was fixed. Now that it is, I hoped that Joan would take the reins instead of calling me every time the smallest issue arises. I drop my head to my hand and pinch the bridge of my nose while she carries on about inseam lengths in more detail than I ever cared to know.
“If the order’s wrong, can’t we just return it?” I ask, somewhat impatiently.
“We could have, but receiving signed for the order without checking it first and now we’re stuck with them.”
Joan launches into another tirade, giving me a play-by-play of her email exchange with the supplier. I sigh silently, leaning back in my chair. My eyes drift over the top of my computer, past my glass office wall where Margot is sitting at her desk.
She’s wearing a mustard yellow sweater today with a knee-length plaid skirt and a pair of boots. Her hair is pulled up into a tidy bun on top of her head. A few loose tendrils of hair frame her face.
The memory of her hair against my fingertips when I brushed it back from her face the other night invades my brain. Kissing her was supposed to be revenge for her ex’s mistakes, but it’s me who’s suffering with the knowledge of her soft lips and sweet taste.
I didn’t expect sparks.
I didn’t expect to still be thinking about that kiss as I laid in my bed that night.