Page 5 of Hotter in the Hamptons

Lola gave herself a moment to take Aly in. She was the epitome of intellectual luxury in black linen pants that hung loosely on her lean frame, a perfectly cut black T-shirt, and black leather Celine loafers; her long, brown hair was pulled into a low ponytail with a nineties-inspired tortoise-shell claw clip—or, Lola thought, maybe the clip was actually vintage. Aly’s infamous Tom Ford aviator sunglasses were on the table next to a Moleskine notebook emblazoned with her initials and a recording device. A canvasParis Reviewtote was slung over her chair.

Lola tried to swallow and found that her mouth had become dry.It was terribly intimidating, how beautiful she was in person. An off-duty Kristen Stewart, with longer hair, as charming as an A-list actress and as cool as… Lola actually couldn’t think of anyone who instantly appeared cooler. Aly was in her own league.

Lola’s stomach did a backflip as she realized how overdressed she was in her ruffled maxi dress. She wondered what Aly thought of her, if she found her aesthetic charming or cheesy.Smile, she told herself.Be likeable.At least she hadn’t changed into the heels.

“So nice to meet you,” Lola said, and she realized with a flash of embarrassment that she sounded breathless. She had no reason to be out of breath. She’d only walked about twenty feet from the car. Still, her heart was pounding as though she’d just run a mile (not that Lola was a runner—she hated nonessential cardio).

Aly was a couple of inches shorter than Lola, which wasn’t surprising. At five feet nine, Lola was used to being the tallest girl around. Aly was smaller in general too—while Lola had something of an Amazonian figure, Aly was slender and narrow.

Lola wasn’t sure why she was so fixated on the physical differences between them. She wasn’t usually one to compare herself to other women.

“Oh, we’ve met before,” Aly said, shaking her hand, her face neutral and unreadable.

“I’m so sorry, of course we have,” Lola said, trying to cover up the faux pas by lying. “I just didn’t thinkyouwould rememberme.”

She quickly ran through all the possible places she could have met Aly, but there were too many to count. She wasn’t sure how it was possible that she could have forgotten, but then again, she was sometimes in a different mode, too distracted and in her head to catalog every introduction. She felt rising panic at the thought that Aly might already find her rude.

Aly simply raised one groomed eyebrow, a half smile flickering across her face. “Please, sit down. I have a cappuccino coming, but I wasn’t sure what you’d want.” There was something kind of old-school about that, about her order, about her. Like she was from another era.

“Oh, I’m good with water, thank you.” Lola was too nervous to eat. To compensate, she concentrated on switching over into Professional Influencer Mode, taking a breath to shake away her nerves. She sat up straighter, batted her eyelashes. She prepared to be fun and funny and nice—nothing more, nothing less. It was the persona her team knew well, the one her brand clients loved. It had never let her down before.

“Thanks for coming to my neck of the woods,” Aly said.

“Oh, do you live around here? I love this neighborhood.”

Aly nodded. “Near the park.”

“How lovely,” Lola said. This neighborhood was all brownstones, trees, and charm. A different kind of New York. One more intimate and unique. Kind of perfect for the girl sitting before her. Lola, on the other hand, was made for Soho, the beautiful chaos of it, the luxury, the ongoing identity crisis.

They had both found their places, it seemed.

Lola couldn’t help but let her gaze skim over Aly again as she flipped open her notebook. Aly had soft brown eyes framed by dense, dark eyelashes. It didn’t look like she was wearing a drop of makeup across her high cheekbones and sharp jawline. She was gorgeous but in such an understated way, it struck Lola as distinctly unfair. She wondered if Aly even appreciated it or if her prettiness was a burden, if it prevented people from taking her seriously. And Aly seemed like the kind of person who wanted, if nothing else, to be seen as serious.

The wind blew in from the open French doors, and Lola was hitwith a waft of something delicious she couldn’t place. “Oh my god, what is that smell?”

Aly blinked. “Hm?”

“You don’t smell that? It’s, like, woodsy but also citrusy? It smells like summer. Fuck, whatisthat?” Lola felt almost intoxicated by it, enough that her professional mask momentarily dropped.

Aly grinned sheepishly at her. “Oh, that’s probably just…me.”

Lola’s cheeks grew hot. “You have to tell me what perfume it is.”

“It’s called Molecule 01,” Aly said. “It’s supposed to blend with your natural scent or something.”

“Wow, you must have a great natural scent, then.”

“Thank you,” Aly said, avoiding her eyes.

Lola wanted to apologize, then start over, try to have better boundaries—or at least just not mention how good Aly smelled, for god’s sake. Could she sound any thirstier? Would Aly think she was flirting?

Wasshe flirting?

Still not looking at Lola, Aly turned her recorder on and flipped a page, tapping her ballpoint pen on a sheet filled with indecipherable scrawls.

“Whole milk cappuccino?” The server placed Aly’s drink in front of her, the foam cresting pleasantly over the edge of the white ceramic mug.

Lola fought the urge to take a photo of it. “Whole milk,” she remarked. “So classic.”

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