Page 49 of Let's Kiss and Tell

“Great, so this will be the guest bedroom for the family.” Lucy walks back out to the hallway. “I’d be surprised if there wasn’t a third bedroom.”

I follow her and we pass a bathroom, a laundry room, and then finally at the end of the hall, a room set up like an office.

“There we go,” I say as we step inside.

“Okay, so you have an office to write in.” Lucy nudges my arm. “There’s a guest bedroom, the kitchen is perfect…I think we have to get it.”

“It can be your office,” I say.

“I can use the breakfast nook.”

“I have an office at my place now,” I say. “You should experience having one.”

Lucy’s lips curl into a sheepish smile. “Really? My own office?”

“Your own office.” I nod.

“Wow.” Her eyes light up. “Well now youhaveto get this house for us.”

I observe Lucy as she walks through the rest of the house. I catch how excited she gets when she fantasizes about the what-ifs. For the remainder of the afternoon, I decide to suspend my disbelief and think about the what-ifs too.

10

Marsh

We end up seeing two more houses on the Eastside—both beautiful, and both egregiously out of our budget if we were taking this seriously. We stopped by a taco stand in Highland Park to get some mushroom and asada burritos, then iced lattes at a local coffee shop. Everything about today felt easy. It felt like Lucy and I were on a real date. There was nopretendingor trying to play anything up for the sake of her stories. Perhaps the next few weeks will be easier than I thought they would. Ifthisis what pretending to be in a relationship entails, I would have to be an idiot to resist.

As we drive back to the Westside, my gaze falls on Lucy in the front seat. It’s almost fourp.m.,and there’s that golden-hour glow hitting her face. I notice a slight sparkle on her cheekbones and admire the subtle swoop of her nose. Sometimes I can hardly believe she’s real.

“I swear,” she says over the Al Green song on the radio, “no matter what time of day it is, the 110 always has traffic.”

“Every time I drive through this stretch I debate moving,” I say.

“I would move”—Lucy looks at me—“but the weather…”

“Oh, there’s no way I’m leaving this weather,” I agree and turn down the volume. “Okay, what’s an LA spot you think is overrated?” I ask.

“Hmm.” Her head cocks back and forth like she’s thinking. “Hollywood Walk of Fame.”

“Oh, awful.” I make a face.

“Awful!” she echoes. “Like who wants to see middle-aged men dressed up as Jack Sparrow and Spider-Man?”

“It just makes me depressed when I see families walk through there thinking that’s where the magic happens,” I agree.

“What do you think is an overrated spot?” Lucy asks.

“Probably the Hollywood Sign,” I muse.

“Oh yeah, or the Santa Monica Pier.”

“I’ve never been,” I say.

Lucy’s eyes widen. “Seriously?” she says, and I shake my head. “Never?”

“It always felt too touristy,” I say.

“I mean, it is,” she agrees. “But it’s a Los Angeles staple! Oh, that’s it, we’re going to Santa Monica tonight.” She taps on the car’s navigation system and inputs Santa Monica. “I’m going to pop that pier cherry.”