Page 73 of Tap Left
I pull out the reports from this month and show them to her. She thumbs through the new system and then turns her attention back to me, stunned. “Wow. This is so organized.”
“Like I said, I’m trying to do things differently.”
She goes over the numbers, her brows pinching together. “Any explanation for the jump in sales?” she asks.
I chew on my lip. “There’s been an influx of customers lately. I asked a few of them how they heard about us and they told me that one of the real housewives snapped an Instagram pic in the shop declaring how much she loved it.”
“Huh,” she says. “Well imagine that. Free publicity.”
“Yeah. Pretty weird, but I’ll take it. I can’t count on it to last forever, though. Which is why I’m finally taking the business online.” I rouse the computer from slumber and show Mellie the mockup for the website.
“Wow,” she gushes. “I love that. Did you do this?”
“I’m working with a designer. It’s a big process, but I hope it will be worth it in the end.”
“I think it will,” she assures me. “This looks amazing.”
“Thanks. I also have some ideas for driving foot traffic. I’ve been doing a ton of market research.”
She looks over the list I’ve gathered, and I can tell she’s impressed. Maybe it shouldn’t mean much to me, considering she’s my friend, but I feel proud of the work I’ve done so far.
“This is really good, babe. Seriously, I think these are great ideas.”
“It’s just a start,” I say. “I want to hold events here. Bring local authors in for signings, readings, that sort of thing. And eventually, I’d like to add a coffee bar and possibly expand into the empty shop next door. I know it would require a lot of money, but it’s just a dream for now.”
“Lola.” Mellie releases the paperwork to focus on me. “You can do this. You’ve got a solid marketing plan here. Don’t cut yourself short. I don’t know what’s lit a fire under your ass, but whatever it is, I love it. Keep at this, and your dreams will be a reality in no time.”
Her confidence in me bring tears to my eyes. It’s been a long time since anyone’s been proud of me. It’s been a long time since I’ve been proud of myself too. Mellie pours us both another glass of champagne and raises her cup to meet mine. “To new beginnings.”
“To new beginnings,” I echo.
30
Daire
Life post-Lola is easy.
I go to work, and I stay there all day. There is no one to answer to, and since I’ve given up on fulfilling her bucket list, I have time to focus on more productive ventures. Over the last two weeks, I’ve completed more projects than I have in months. Everything is as it should be.
It doesn’t matter that I still check my phone to see if she’s messaged me. And it makes no difference that my employees are skulking around like I might explode at any moment. Things are getting done, and I’m content.
The nights though, I will admit, the nights are a challenge. I lay awake and toss and turn for six hours instead of sleeping. The cabinet in the kitchen has beckoned me on more than one occasion, and sometimes I wonder what the point of staying sober is.
Jimmy and Grazi check in on me a ridiculous amount of times throughout each day, and I keep insisting that I’m fine. I haven’t slipped… yet. Maybe this was meant to be my life. Maybe I’m just supposed to work and build my empire and focus on the things that matter. Like me, myself, and I.
Life is easier when you only have yourself to consider. I get to do whatever I want. There’s no fighting about which movie to watch or hurt feelings. If I want to watch a movie, I watch it. If I want to jet off on an exotic vacation at the last minute, I can do that because I’m not tied down. It’s a bachelor’s lifestyle for me, and I feel sorry for the poor saps who are at the opposite end of the spectrum.
But at the end of every day, when I’m lying alone and wondering what she’s doing, I can’t help but ask myself if it really is better. Tonight is no different. I’m lonely and horny, and I can only think of one solution.
I scroll through my phone and check out some local hookups on Tap Left. A mindless fuck might be what I need to eradicate Lola from my system. But my dick seems to be particularly picky as I flip through the profiles. Too blonde. Too much makeup. Too much duck lips. Looks too much like Lola.
And then I stop. Because it is Lola. It’s a photo I’ve never seen before. She looks like herself again, wearing a yellow dress and messy curls and her geeky purple glasses that I secretly always loved. And she’s sniffing a book. There’s a pang in my chest, and I can’t say it’s anything other than heartache.
This is the Lola that I know. She is bangles and long flowing skirts and head wraps and bare feet. She is bold at heart and free in spirit. And the app has matched us because for some odd reason she’s in my part of the city. At eleven o clock at night.
My thumb hovers over the screen, hesitant to tap her away. I don’t know what she’s doing, and it bothers me. I don’t know if she’s safe or who’s she with or why she’s had a sudden change of heart. But when I read through her updated profile, her intentions are clear.
Former co-dependenthot mess seekingdysfunctional relationshipsingle, well-together male. Sanity preferable. If you only want to get laid, move along, please. If you have a wife or girlfriend, move along. If you can’t handle a girl that’s messy and sometimes too loud and who talks about books a lot, then next.
