Page 40 of Faking the Face Off

This woman makes me truly happy in the deepest and darkest parts of me, probably because she’s the only one I’ll ever let see into those corners. I’d hand her a flashlight and a map to my soul if it meant she could shine her light in the darkness and reveal more. All for her.

For a second, neither of us speaks, the room filled with the sounds of moody jazz and the soft creak of the couch beneath her. I tilt my head, studying her.

“So,” I begin, dragging a hand through my hair. “I’m curious what happens when there’s no more fake dates, no more hashtag OllieAnna. What’s next for you?”

Her lips part, but no immediate answer comes. She looks down at her hands, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “I’m notsure,” she finally admits. “I mean, I’d love a chance to work with Sutton, but I don’t know. I think I want more.”

“More, huh?” I prompt, intrigued. “What kind of ‘more’ are we talking about?”

She looks up at me, her eyes alight with something between hope and nerves. “I’ve been thinking about Sutton’s offer to join her marketing team when she expands. Starting at the ground floor sounds like a challenge, but maybe it’s what I need. Something I can build, you know?”

I lean back, crossing my arms with a teasing smile. “So, let me get this straight—you’re ready to move up in the world. Be the one calling the shots, huh?”

She laughs, her face brightening. “Not quite, but maybe one day. I’ve realized I want to be in a position where I’m the one with the assistant.”

I can’t help but laugh at that, and it feels good—light, easy. “Okay, boss lady. I can see it. You’d rock it.”

“Thanks.” Her cheeks flush, and she grins. “It’s scary, though. I mean, I know I want to do something where I help people. I seem to like that aspect of my work, but I’ve been an assistant for so long, it feels like a safety net. Stepping out of that...it’s a leap.”

“Leaps can be good,” I say. “Sometimes you’ve got to take a risk to get what you really want.”

Her gaze softens, and for a moment, I wonder if she’s going to ask me whatIreally want. Because I know I’m looking right at it.

Instead, she shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips as she closes her eyes. The sound of a melancholy saxophone fills the air around us and she smiles, pointing in the air at nothing in particular.

“What is this we’re listening to today?”

“John Coltrane,” I say, watching as she closes her eyes, the ends of her lips turning up at the corners as her body begins swaying back and forth, slowly, on the couch beside me. As someone begins singing, her eyes fly open and her hand grabs onto my thigh.

“Who’s that?”

“Johnny Hartman,” I say with a chuckle. “This song is called ‘My One and Only Love.’”

“Oh,” she says, as her hand flies to her heart. She closes her eyes again and, smiling, waves her hands in the air like the conductor of an orchestra as she listens.

“Wow,” she whispers when it ends, peeling her eyes open and letting them come to a rest on me.

“It’s the best way to wind down,” I say, letting the record play on.

We sit quietly for a minute or two, before she sighs and busies herself with rearranging the pile of hair she’s gathered on top of her head as she squints at me.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You never said if you had any big leaps on the horizon?”

“Big leaps, like being marketable or big leaps that count?” I tease.

“Ha!” She laughs, slugging me in my arm. “Leaps that count for Ollie. Leaps to another team or to the NHL, leaps into your version of ‘what’s next.’”

Maybe now’s the time. The time I can tell her my leap would be with her. That when I think of making any kind of plans for the future, right now I want her to be in them.

Before she can press me for more, the doorbell rings, cutting through the moment.

“That’s the food,” I say, pushing to my feet.

She smirks. “Saved by the burrito.”

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