Page 95 of Eye of the Beholder

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Page 95 of Eye of the Beholder

“You look really upset,” he says. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say. I try to smile, but it’s pretty wobbly.

“All right,” the man says, looking concerned. “But just in case you’re not…” He pulls one of the daisies out of his newly purchased bouquet and hands it to me. “Things will get better.” Then he smiles at me again, and deep dimples appear in his cheeks.

I can’t help it; I smile back and take the daisy. “Thank you,” I whisper, looking at the flower.

He nods at me. “Best of luck,” he says. He puts the rest of his change on the counter, turns, and leaves the shop.

I take one look at the purple daisy in my hand and burst into tears.

This is ridiculous. I’m being ridiculous.

I thought I was not a strong woman when this whole thing started. I thought I needed a man. But I don’t need a man. And Iamstrong. Life will go on. Just because kissing me made Cohen miserable doesn’t mean that I have to be miserable too. We can still be friends.

It’s time to make this right.

I close the shop for the night, strategizing as I work. I almost do inventory incorrectly because I’m paying so little attention to what I’m doing, but I catch myself before I do any permanent damage.

Then, when I lock up, I pull out my phone and dial Cohen’s number.

29

Mina

My heart races, but I don’t let myself hang up. Cohen answers after the first ring.

“Hey,” he says. He speaks quietly—nervously.

But I’m not going to let that happen. Not with Cohen.

“Hey,” I say as I get in my car. “I have a bone to pick with you.”

“Still doing the skeleton puns?”

“Always. Are you ready for my complaint?”

“Lay it on me,” he says, sounding easier already.

All right. Here goes nothing. “I kissed three men today,” I say, fastening my seat belt. “To practice, you know. But all three of them criticized my technique. Why didn’t you tell me that you’re not supposed to burp while kissing?”

There’s nothing but silence. Terrible, horrifying silence.

And then, suddenly, he’s laughing, and I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“Oh, gross,” he says. “Mina, that’s so gross. That’s disgusting. Don’t ever use ‘burp’ and ‘kiss’ in the same sentence again.” He’s speaking in between bursts of laughter. “I’m going to vomit up all the food I just ate.”

“It’s your fault. You should have mentioned that burping was bad while kissing.”

“I give you my word that I will never make such a horrid mistake again,” he says, and I can hear that he’s smiling.

A profound wave of relief washes over me. “Good. Then I think I can forgive you.”

“To be fair,” he says, “that seems like it should be pretty intuitive.”

I smile. “Intuition isn’t my strong point.” Okay, now I need to change the subject. Jokes have been made, the ice has been broken—move on. “What did you do today? Because I just worked a six-hour shift selling sparkly silver New Year’s wreathes. I’m on my way home now. Can you beat that?”

“I can, actually,” he says. “I told my dad I’d go to his wedding.”