Page 34 of Kiss Me, Maybe

“We?” I try for a wry smile, but I’m not sure it has the desired effect. If it comes off more sad than anything else, mimicking my true feelings about this whole mess of a day.

“Yeah,” she says as I look away from her, unable to meet her eyes. “If you still want help, that is.”

I nod, try to reroute my thoughts in a more encouraging direction, but fail miserably. “Sure. I’d love your help. But maybe we should give planning a rest for tonight. I think I need a break from it for a while.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.” Her hand falls on my shoulder, squeezing lightly. “You’ll have a clearer head about this tomorrow.”

“Right.” But as soon as she makes her way down the porch steps, I can’t keep myself from calling out her name. She turns around and meets my eyes, brows raised in question.

“What is it?”

Good question. What is it with me and this woman? Why does the thought of her leaving make me feel hollowed out? It has to be more than the silence waiting for me inside. For the first time since my parents have been gone, the loneliness plaguing me dissipates when she’s around.

“Do you want some company for a while?” She seems surprised by the question, but instead of turning me down like I think she will, she nods. A single dip of her head that turns my bones to liquid.

“Sure.” She clicks a button on her keys, unlocking her car doors. “Hop in.”

Fifteen

Natalia was right. There’s an entire Reddit thread filled with guys I’ve flirted with and dodged, including a former Havana Bar employee I haven’t thought about in years. After a little digging, Krystal finds some videos on TikTok of a few guys grossly exaggerating what our interactions were really like. Luckily they don’t have many views and it appears none of my followers have seen them.

“You don’t have to respond right away,” Krystal says when I open the camera app. “We haven’t eaten all day. Let me make you dinner.”

“I’ll think about it,” I tell her. “But I should probably post an update on the scavenger hunt, even if it is a disappointing one.”

“All right, you can record here. I’ll try not to make too much noise in the kitchen.”

I’m sitting on Krystal’s couch when I hit record.

CAPTION:

A DISAPPOINTING UPDATE

@ANGELA CLOSED CAPTIONS:After a long week, it looks like I’m officially back to square one on thisscavenger hunt plan. I wish I had better news for y’all, but I’m not giving up yet. Until then, I have a few videos scheduled but if you guys want to see content from me aside from the scavenger hunt series, let me know.

Once I’m through filming, Krystal allows me to explore as she cooks something that smells delicious. Her eyes watch me as I inspect the corners of her apartment I didn’t get to last time. As I’m taking stock of her music choices, it hits me that she’s never once played the radio while I’ve sat in the passenger seat of her car. The only music she plays is her own, the artists she’s collected for herself displayed on this shelf.

“Taylor Swift, Taylor Swift, Taylor Swift.” I flick past all eleven studio albums. Krystal chuckles softly from her place on the edge of the barstool. “How did I have no idea you’re a Swiftie?”

She hides her smile by taking a sip from her beer. So far mine has sat on the floor next to me, untouched. I don’t know why I said yes when she asked if I wanted one. I don’t even like beer. But she’s an impossible woman to say no to, even in something as irrelevant as a drink request.

“I guess it never came up.”

I make a mental catalogue of each vinyl I come across and look up unfamiliar names on Spotify, marking them to check out later. Before I know it, I have an entire playlist full of artists I’ve never heard of. Before I can analyze what I’m doing too closely, I name the playlist after Krystal and tuck my phone away in my jeans pocket.

It’s just a Spotify playlist, I tell myself.So what if you put a heart emoji by her name?

“What else don’t I know about you?” I rise from the floor, ambling toward the kitchen. She hops from the stool and follows close behind.

“That I make a mean chicken alfredo,” she says. “It’s a lot simpler to make the sauce than people think. It’s just cream, butter, and a shit ton of parmesan.”

My stomach grumbles from the yummy, artery-clogging description, and we both laugh.

“I’d offer to help, but I fear I’ll only hold you back. I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”

“Look at us, learning more about each other.” She smirks. “Your turn now. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

“I think you know pretty much all there is to know about me.”

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