a whole lot less huge. Like the stars above us and the inky blackness of beyond are all just greater pawns in the creation of this moment between us.
My body sways toward hers, drawn to the current tethering us together. She follows suit, leaning in toward me to meet me in the middle.
My heart thrums in my chest and my stomach dances with possibility, but a car honks a horn on the street, yanking Holley’s attention away harshly. The emotional band between us snaps, breaking apart right in the center and allowing reality to invade.
I know it was real—that the moment between us existed—because my heart still beats with the same intensity. But for Holley, our bubble has burst. When she looks back, she clears her throat and pulls her notebook out of her bag to get back to business.
My chest deflates immediately.
“So…” she starts, opening up to the page with Lydia’s name at the top, and taking out a pen. “Did anything else happen on the date tonight that I need to know about for the article?”
On a sigh, I fall back into the sand and look up at the sky, trying to gather my thoughts. Thoughts about a date I can barely put together a sentence to describe; thoughts about why I wanted that moment with Holley to continue so badly. “Not really. What you saw is what you got, I’d say.”
Lydia is an attractive, bubbly woman whom I have zero interest in. What I remember about our date is waiting for it to end.
And for this time with Holley to start…
That world-shaking thought makes my chest grow tight, but Holley is completely oblivious, currently focused on the notebook in her lap.
She hums, making a few notes on the page and flips to the next one. “All right then, what do you want to do for your next date?”
Nothing. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.
The mere idea of another date feels absurd—completely contrarian to my feelings right now. Feelings that are very much rooted in the woman sitting beside me. I breathe through the matrix of emotions and try to act like my mind isn’t fucking reeling.
“Who’s…uh…who’s this date with?” I force myself to ask.
Holley starts to dig around in her bag, no doubt pulling out Date Number Four’s file.
I hear the sound of a folder being opened, and I almost roll my eyes. I don’t, though. I wait patiently as she scrolls through it, listening to the ebb and flow of her smooth voice. For as much as I don’t know what to make of my current dating situation, the calming effect of Holley’s presence on me is undeniable.
“Let’s see. Her name is Elle, which is cute. And she’s a pastry chef.” As the words she’s reading hit her, she breaks into her information with excitement. “Ooh! I wonder if she knows how to make donuts!”
“Maybe you should date her instead of me.”
“Very funny.” She reaches out to smack a playful hand against my shoulder. “Anyway, what do you think you want to do with her?”
I consider it for a moment, but when nothing comes to mind, she offers up something for me.
“How about a cooking class?” she asks. “That might be really fun.”
“Sure.” I act like I’m on board. Honestly, I’d probably agree to anything just to have Holley keep talking.
“Great. I’ll get that set up.” She scribbles something in her notebook. “And while we’re at it, we should go ahead and figure out what you want to do for your fifth and final date.”
I turn my head at the sound of her voice—an unmistakable, nervous timbre that says there’s more to this story.
“And why is that?”
“Well…” She pauses, nervously glances down at her notebook, and digs her teeth into her bottom lip. When she finally looks over to meet my eyes again, I don’t miss the way her gaze shines with apology. “The Bachelor Anonymous Reveal Party has been moved up.”
Jesus. The Reveal Party. I’d almost forgotten about that. I cringe. The fact that I’m supposed to choose one of the five women to take out on a second date with the intention of pursuing something further at this thing has never seemed more ridiculous.
“Moved up? What are you talking about?”
She grimaces as she answers. “I just got word that there’s been a bit of a miscommunication with the event coordination team, and instead of the party being September 4th, it’s going to be August 28th.”
“Well, shit,” I mutter. I don’t like the sound of that. That’s one less