Page 53 of Seas the Dating Coach

Vivian

Ialmost kissed Finn.

The thought keeps repeating itself as I stumble through a conversation with two best friends who end up buying three dresses.I almost kissed Finn.When a group of intensely aggressive seagulls attack an abandoned funnel cake at the front of my tent.I almost kissed Finn.After I lose one of my favorite designs to a sticky lollipop situation.I almost kissed Finn.

I almost kissed Finn. I almost kissed Finn. I almost kissed Finn.

The sentence iterates so many times that it reaches semantic satiation and no longer makes sense. I might as well be thinking,Dog wearing a peanut butter hat.

Except, there’s the very real problem of what to do now. I was the one who firmly set the friend boundary between us, butearlier, I was ready to sail over it like an Olympic high-jumper securing gold.

A groan escapes me as I press the heel of my palm between my eyes.

Finn texted shortly after he left, saying that if he takes his medicine, he’ll probably end up sleeping since it makes him drowsy. Since his Aston Martin is in an interior spot in the parking garage, I didn’t worry about him overheating, but I texted him, telling him to crack his windows just in case.

That was four hours ago.

In that time, I’ve done an excellent job of spiraling. I should join an acrobatic group—I’m that good. What I’m not doing a great job of is selling dresses. I say hi to people as they enter and try to give them the privacy to peruse, but almost everyone leaves empty handed. I’m certain it’s because of my awkwardness.

Or it might be because I end up staring off into space, remembering the way Finn’s breath see-sawed irregularly when my lips were inches from his, and have to snap myself out of it with a physical shake. Earlier, I startled a five-year-old shopping with her mom, thus resulting in the lollipop situation. One thing is for sure, the low interest in my dresses is definitely not due to foot traffic. There’s a standing-room-only throng of people parading past my tent. They look more like cattle than shoppers.

Heading to the back corner of the tent, I pull my spiral notebook from my brand-new tote bag. Even before I open it, I know I’m not close to hitting my goal. Yesterday, I’d written down success milestones with a rainbow of multicolor pens that I could check off during the day. Deducting the cost of dress production, my vendor tent fees, rental costs for the clothing racks, and the gas money I still need to pay Finn, I’m now the proud owner of enough profit to buy Brynn a tuna sandwich.

My nose stings, and I tell myself that the liquid brimming my eyelids is from the ocean breeze picking up. Wind always makes my eyes water. Besides, I never expected this experience to rocket me to some new layer of success. I probably couldn’t handle that anyway. It’d be too emotionally stressful, and I’m used to…being small, living small. My shoulders hunch forward as I close my eyes.

I shouldn’t even be here.

“I brought sustenance,” Finn’s voice surprises me.

I slam the notebook closed, tucking it away. A deep inhale fills my lungs before I turn around, grateful for Finn’s distraction. The last thing I need is to ugly cry with thousands of onlookers witnessing my abject failure.

Finn looks better. His hat and sunglasses still cover his face, but the ever-present grimace is gone. Then my gaze tracks down his firm chest—purely in a medical assessment kind of way—before I notice the pink lemonade and curly fries in his hands.

A bloom of affection radiates between my ribs. I’d been muttering to myself as we passed the food trucks earlier about having that exact combination for lunch. The Skittles are long gone, but I was too nervous to “close my tent” and potentially lose sales in order to get myself lunch.

“Are those for me?”

Finn’s easy smile falls when my voice cracks.

“What’s wrong?” He strides forward, setting my food on the stool.

His hands come up as if to brace my arms, but then he slides them into his pockets. It’s completely unreasonable for me to be disappointed at the potential loss of contact when Finn is respecting my boundaries.

I blame my hollowing stomach on my low sales numbers, telling him, “Things aren’t going as well as I hoped.”

Finn looks around the tent, probably noting that it’s nearly identical to how he left it. Then, a lopsided grin traces his lips. It’s different from his spine-tingly flirtatious one, almost teetering on goofy.

“Permission to turn on the charm to sell dresses?”

I roll my eyes with a huff, but his jokey request eases the tension between my collarbones. I’d actually thought about asking Finn to turn up the charisma when he returned. I mean, I have a gorgeous man at my disposal; why not utilize him to maximize profits? But the idea feels seedy, underhanded, and in direct opposition to what I’d told him before the fair even opened.

I sigh. “I’m supposed to do this on my own, remember?”

Finn nods, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

“Are you feeling better?” I ask to change the subject.

My stomach twists. I should have asked that the minute I saw Finn instead of selfishly dwelling on my lack of sales.

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