23. Lulu

23

LULU

Kickboxing with my friends always clears my head. I’ve never been a solo exerciser. I like the company and the chatter. I like the girl power, and I instruct Mariana not to mention men at all.

She gives a thumbs-up. “Man-diet morning. Got it. I vow to only discuss frivolous things to keep your mind off whatever man is driving you crazy.”

“You’re a true friend.”

At six in the morning, Mariana and I sweat our way through a killer class that elevates my heart rate to skyscraper levels. We speak in our exercise shorthand, the cardio reducing us to quick, bullet-like sentences as I tell her briefly about Heavenly, how the new line has started to come together over the last few weeks, the flavors I’m trying, as well as the hunt.

When we hit the cool-down phase, I can breathe and talk more normally. “Plus, business at the shop is strong. I can’t really complain about anything, so, ya know, I won’t,” I say as I stretch.

“Considering my newest client just paid me an obscene retainer, I won’t complain either. But I did donate ten percent of it to Little Friends, the local animal rescue.”

“Whoa. Did they erect a statue of you in front of the shelter? Because for ten percent, they should.”

Mariana laughs. “Nope. But that’s my goal. Someday, somewhere, I’d like a statue erected. Mostly because statues are one of the few times you can say ‘erect’ without getting the side-eye.”

I give her the side-eye. “I think that’s one of those words that always deserves a side-eye.”

She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Yes, it does. Also, I won the bet.”

“What bet?”

“I bet Cameron that you’d try to wear the pantsuit. He bet you wouldn’t even take it from my house. I know you so well.”

I jam my elbow into her side.

“Ouch.”

“You set me up!”

“I know, but you asking me for a suit was the most absurd thing you’ve ever done, and you’ve done some absurd things.”

“Like what? Name one.”

“Like the time you wanted to attend a circus class.”

“I still want to learn to juggle.”

That sends us down a rabbit hole discussion of circus skills we’d most want to possess—she picks fire-eating and I choose trapeze.

But in the end, Mariana tells me she’s glad I chose chocolate. “You’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to be doing.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because of your sweet caramel center,” she says with a wink.

“What’s yours made of?”

“Steel and vitriol.”

“Have I mentioned I never want to go up against you in a court of law?”

When our class is over and we’ve made plans to do it again a few days later, my head is officially clear.

Clear of that kiss.

Clear of last night.

Clear of this bizarre new phase in my life where I’m suddenly wildly attracted to Leo Hennessy.

He’s always been interesting, kind, and clever.

He’s always been smart and easy to talk to.

And he’s definitely always been handsome. I’m not blind, and I wasn’t before Lasik either. I know he’s hot, just like I know Chris Hemsworth could swindle the panties off any woman, but I don’t want to jump him. Wait, that’s not true. Chris Hemsworth is everyone’s hall pass.

Be that as it may, I never thought of Leo in a romantic way.

My eyes were laser-focused on Tripp, my heart belonging 100 percent to the man I married.

Given how it ended, given how it all spiraled downhill, do I regret my choice to love him?

No.

I learned resilience from my marriage. I learned I wasn’t responsible for other people’s choices. I discovered that I couldn’t fix another person, no matter how hard I tried.

Tripp is my past. Tripp is behind me. I’ve made peace with my marriage, with what it was and what it was not. That’s why I don’t harbor any guilt over Leo.

This issue is different.

It’s how he fits into my life.

As I return to my apartment and shower, I contemplate if he fits into my life now that I have room to breathe, to plan, and to grow my business. Do I fling all those ingredients to the floor to indulge in a newfound lust?

But this isn’t lust.

It’s so much more.

Leo is the guy who shows up.

Leo is the guy who will be there.

The recipe of feelings plus Leo equals the real deal.

The trouble is timing.

I’m finally free to live my life on my terms, and those terms include my partnership with his company.

As I rinse off, step out of the shower, and grab a towel, I don’t know that I can fit the real deal in my life at this moment.

A heavy blanket of sadness falls over me. But along with that sadness comes something new.

Determination.

I’m on the other side. I’m rebuilding and remaking my life. I love the freedom from madness. I love the opportunities unfurling before me.

I love my choices.

And I need to behave like I have them. I text the smartest person I know.

Lulu: What exactly did you mean when you said he had years in his eyes?

Mom: It feels like there’s a different question in there than the one you’re asking, so I’ll ask it. Why are you asking me this question?

Lulu: I shouldn’t be surprised that you answered a question with a question.

Mom: However else would I answer it? :)

Lulu: So. Years. Explain.

Mom: I said he had years in his eyes because he looks at you in a way that’s different from how a man looks at a woman he’s simply attracted to.

I stare at the text message, trying to decode it. But it’s almost too much, the notion she’s presenting. I can’t conceive of years. All I know is he kissed me like a man possessed. But what possessed him?

The idea of years is inconceivable. He’s dated other women. He was engaged, for crying out loud. He can’t possibly have wanted me for years, so I decide that he hasn’t, and I deal with only the here and now.

And that mesmerizing kiss.

Lulu: We kissed yesterday.

Mom: WAY TO BURY THE LEDE!

Lulu: I was teeing you up. :)

Mom: This is huge!

Lulu: Is it?

Mom: I presume you don’t go around kissing random men for kicks?

Lulu: I haven’t kissed anyone in years. I haven’t dated anyone since my marriage ended. You know that. So, what happens next?

Mom: What does your heart say? What do you want? Was it just a random kiss? Or was it a kiss that leads to more late-night bookstore visits and dinners with your mother?

My face flushes as I read the last lines, like I’ve been busted.

And I have.

The kiss won’t lead to late-night bookstore visits and dinners with my mom, because late-night bookstore visits and dinners with my mom were what led to the kiss.

So were museum visits.

And nights out at The Pub.

And text messages.

And time . Spending time with Leo.

That’s the cause, and the kiss was the effect.

I want more of the effect. So much more.

As I reflect back on the last month, I can see with my twenty-twenty vision that we’ve been spinning toward that kiss since I bumped into a chocolate fountain and found myself on top of him. I recall every second of the kiss, reliving the tingles that swept over me, the hum under my skin, the joy that seemed to radiate in my bones. The joy of possibility. Of a new kind of connection.

But I’m not entirely sure how to sum all that up to fit into one category of kissing. Still, I try my best when I write back to her.

Lulu: Would you think I was a complete cheeseball if I told you it was magical?

Mom: I’d think you were the daughter I raised. There are no better kisses than the kind that are magical. The kind that make your toes tingle.

Lulu: That’s exactly the kind we had. But I feel like I’d be stupid to pursue anything, given that I’m contracted with his company. I shouldn’t mess around with this chance in my career. Don’t you think?

Mom: I think your career is a precious thing and ought to be handled with care.

Lulu: So it’s settled. I choose chocolate over kisses?

Mom: Is that the choice?

Lulu: I thought that’s what you were saying.

Mom: I’m not going to tell you what to do. The heart wants what the heart wants.

Lulu: And you always taught me both to listen to mine and not be fooled by it.

Mom: I did, because there is no organ more susceptible to trickery, subterfuge, or sabotage than the heart. Embrace it, treat it as something precious, and be very wary of it.

I tuck the phone away in my purse. I am so very wary of hearts.