Mom’s lips pursed into a familiar expression, a mixture of pity and judgment that made my stomach churn. “Well, I suppose that’s to be expected.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emily’s voice was dangerously quiet.
“Nothing.” Mom waved her hand dismissively, but her eyes told a different story as they flickered over my figure. “It’s just that dating is so competitive these days. All those apps and whatnot. And you know how visual men are.”
The implication hung over me like a toxic fucking cloud: Who would swipe right on you?
“I’m not on dating apps.” I struggled to keep my voice steady. “I’m focused on my career.”
“That’s probably for the best,” Aunt Monica chimed in with fake sympathy. “Those apps can be so brutal. At least with your job, you have something to feel good about.”
I felt the familiar burn of shame creeping up my neck. The knife twisted, but I kept my expression neutral. Emily, however, had reached her limit.
I almost slumped with relief when I heard her whisper, “cantaloupe.” Then she pulled out her phone. “Oh no, Mia, look at this email! We have to go deal with thisright away.”
“Oh! Yes, that looks urgent. I’m so sorry, but we need to go handle this.”
Mom’s expression soured. “You’re leaving? But we haven’t finalized the dress choice.”
“I vote for the convertible dresses.” I was already standing and gathering my things. “They’re perfect.”
Emily was already halfway to the door, her escape velocity impressive. I followed after giving quick goodbye hugs to everyone, carefully avoiding my mom’s disapproving gaze.
The moment we were in the car, Emily let out a theatrical groan. “Jesus fuck, that was excruciating.”
I leaned back against the headrest. “Thanks for the cantaloupe.”
“Should have done it an hour ago.” She started the engine. “Was it just me, or were they especially vicious tonight?”
“Not just you. Megan’s wedding has sent them into overdrive, I guess.” I closed my eyes. “God, I need a drink. A real one, not that sad pinot grigio they were serving.”
“I’m pretty sure we’ve got some tequila at home.”
“Fucking perfect.”
JACK
Istood in Mia’s office, watching the gray morning light gradually spread across the skyline. It was barely six, too early for anyone to be at Catalyst Digital except the cleaning crew. The distant hum of a vacuum cleaner echoed through the empty hallways, a mundane soundtrack to my completely unprofessional behavior.
Tapping the pack of yellow post-it notes rhythmically against my palm as I stared out her office window, my mind replayed yesterday’s encounter in the parking lot. How she’d insisted on carrying the box that was way too heavy for her. Her blush when our fingers had brushed. The brief flash of her gray eyes when I’d asked her to call me Jack. The way she’d tugged at her skirt before sliding into her car. Most of all, I remembered her expression when she mentioned the family dinner. There was a flash of dread she couldn’t quite hide.
I’d thought about that look all night.
I turned from the window and moved toward her desk, already feeling the familiar guilt creeping up my spine. This had to stop. These notes, this fixation, all of it. It was inappropriate on about sixteen different levels.
I peeled off a single post-it and placed it on her desk, uncapping my pen with my teeth. The pen stuttered against the paper, leaving only a faint indentation. I scribbled in the corner, trying to coax the ink to flow, but nothing happened.
“Shit,” I muttered, recapping the useless pen and patting my pockets for another. Nothing.
Her desk drawer was right there. Surely she had pens. I hesitated only a moment before pulling it open, immediately spotting a collection of ballpoints in a small tray.
But that wasn’t what caught my eye.
There, neatly arranged in a pile, were all the post-it notes I’d left over the past weeks. She’d kept them. Each one carefully preserved, as though they mattered.
Behind the notes lay a travel brochure, its glossy cover showing the Eiffel Tower at sunset. Paris. I lifted it slightly, noticing dog-eared corners and highlighting on several pages. A dream destination, maybe?
What the hell was I doing?
