Page 47 of Meant to Be

I reached inside and pulled out a flat, square box that felt too light to be candy. I gently shook it, listening to the rustling sound of tissue paper, and said, “What is it?”

“Open it,” he said, now beaming.

Feeling self-conscious, I removed the lid of the box and peeled back the tissue, finding the most beautiful cobalt blue and poppy red scarf, its design unmistakably Hermès.

“Oh,wow,” I said, running my hand over the silk, surprised by how lavish a gift it was. “It’s gorgeous.”

“You really like it?”

“Yes,” I said, picking it up by one corner and unfurling it in the air before laying it out flat on the bed. “I love it.”

“It’s vintage…from the sixties…. I found it in the coolest little store—that’s why it’s not in an orange box,” he said.

I smiled, resisting the urge to say,Yeah, I was pretty sure Joe Kingsley didn’t go for a knockoff.

“I’m not quite sure of your style yet, but it seemed like you,” he said, his voice soft.

My heart skipped a beat at his use of the wordyet,and I told him again that I loved it. “I’ve always had a thing for scarves,” I added.

“Oh good,” he said. “And the color? I almost went with ablack and white one because you seem to wear more neutral colors?”

I told him that was true, surprised that he’d noticed, but that I liked pops of color, especially when it came to accessories.

“Yes. Like your lipstick,” he said, staring at my mouth.

Butterflies filled my stomach as I gazed back down at the scarf, tracing the pattern with my finger before folding it diagonally in half, then putting it over my head. There were so many ways to wear a scarf—and I’d tried them all—but this time, I went with a seventies hippie style, tying two corners back at the nape of my neck and leaving the third free, my hair spilling down my back and shoulders.

“So chic,” he said, leaning back on his elbow and staring over at me.

I smiled, reaching up to unknot and restyle the scarf, now tying it under my chin.

“Oh, Ilovethat look,” he said. “It’s like Grace Kelly…in a convertible cruising along the French Riviera.”

I smiled, thinking that it was also a signature Dottie Kingsley look, as he said, “You actually remind me of Grace Kelly.”

“What?” I said, laughing. “We look absolutelynothingalike.”

“I know. But the way you carry yourself,” he said. “You’re so…I don’t know…elegant.”

I resisted the urge to say something self-deprecating, having learned that this tactic gets you nowhere in life. Instead, I thanked him and slipped the scarf off my head, folding it neatly and returning it to the box.

A few seconds passed before he started to smirk at me. “So. Did you dump that dude yet?”

“Thatdude?”

“Yeah.”

“His name is Arlo,” I said, hesitating. “And yes. As a matter of fact, I did.”

“Youdid?” he said, sitting up, suddenly very alert. “When?”

“About thirty minutes ago,” I said, feeling bold. “Right before I called you.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Because you dig me?” he said with a laugh.

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