Page 69 of Let's Kiss and Tell

Once we leave the store with two new dresses in hand, it’s almost fivep.m.This would be a great time to say our goodbyes and go our separate ways, except I don’t want to.

“Do you have any plans tonight?” Marsh walks alongside me. The Grove is unsurprisingly busier than it was when we arrived. There are preteens walking around by themselves, which makes me fascinated by the concept of growing up in LA, women in sleek yoga attire running errands, and families getting in line for the Cheesecake Factory.

“I was just going to probably order some takeout and watch a movie.” I switch my shopping bag to the other hand. “Very exciting stuff.”

He takes the bag from me, and I let him. “Wow, I was going to do the exact same thing.”

“No way.” I pretend to be surprised. “What are the chances?”

“Probably one in a billion?” He shuts an eye. “Saturday takeout and movie nights are almost unheard of.”

“Very rare,” I agree. “What movie were you planning on watching?”

“For some reason, I’m kind of in the mood forPretty Woman.”

“Well, now this is scary ’cause that’s the movieIwas going to watch.” I stop.

“This is getting weird.” Marsh looks at me. “What were you going to order?”

“Am I crazy for craving carbs and cheese?”

“That’s me for probably ninety-eight percent of my day,” Marsh says, and I let out a laugh. We bump into each other as we walk, and all I want to do is loop my arm through his. “I don’t like to brag but…I make a mean grilled cheese.”

This is it. The moment where the ball is in my court and I can decide whether I want to keep playing or call it.

We can continue like this for the next couple of weeks—playfully flirt while I write my stories, all the while pretending to be something we aren’t for the sake of our jobs. While I’ve done far more risqué things than having grilled cheese and watching a rom-com with someone, I feel like being with Marsh in that setting is crossing a line. But he’s drawn the line more than anyone. So, ifhe’sthe one inviting me, it surely means nothing…right?

I look over at Marsh, my eyes settling on his profile. “I can’t say no to grilled cheese.”

14

Lucy

Marsh lives in the middle of Mar Vista on a quaint street lined with palm trees. His house is a modest size, although any sized single-family home in Los Angeles is more than impressive. His home, along with the others on his block, is Spanish style with arched doorways, a terra-cotta roof, and earth-toned exteriors.

Before heading inside, I pull down the car visor and do a quick pass at myself in the mirror. I don’t have much makeup on. My hair is a little frizzier than usual, but I don’t feel like I have to try with Marsh. I pull my cardigan tighter around me and ring the doorbell.

“Hey,” Marsh says as he opens the door, welcoming me in. I’m instantly greeted by the smell of santal and an indie-folk playlist in the background. His calm demeanor makes this a little more normal. Not that I thought this was anything more than just friends hanging out.

Marsh’s home is charming and intentional. The bungalow holds respect for the craftsmanship of the twenties. Saltillo tiles, a fireplace to the right, a small dining area, and a kitchen andhallway around the corner. Manifested into his home, the whole motif is light and woodsy, yet the artwork displayed on the walls and the vintage record player in the corner tell me he’s not a minimalist. There’s clearly a style he possesses, which I’ve noticed from the clothes he wears. Marsh can be wearing a basic flannel but layered over a T-shirt of the finest cotton, I’m sure.

I take off my shoes and follow Marsh toward the kitchen.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” he asks. There’s already a setup of brioche bread, cheese, onions, spinach, and a few spices.

“I’ll just have water, please,” I say.

Marsh pours a glass of water and when he hands it to me, our fingertips gently graze. I’ve written articles about the best foreplay tactics, how to turn someone on without touching them—you name it, I’ve written it. But pouring a glass of water was never something I found erotic.

What’s happening to me?

“Are you hungry now?” Marsh asks. “I can get this ready in the next ten minutes.”

“Sure,” I say.

“Hey.” He takes a step closer to me and my breath hitches. “Is everything okay?”

“Hmm?” I frown. “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”