Page 49 of Mr. Picture Perfect
“For … For what?”
“For failing to understand your perspective,” I answer him. “For not allowing you any opportunity to express yourself. I … I think I should have considered the rather obvious fact that this may not be comfortable at all for you, exposing yourself to the town, whether via an interview or a pageant.” Silence passes. “It was just a second ago I thoughtI’dbe in the spotlight when Burton had me write a story about the festival. And that had me wishing I was half a turtle. So really,” I finish as I turn back around to face him, “I understand about—”
But the moment I turn, I’m silenced as I find myself face-to-face with Cole, who has stood from the curb and come up to me.
Face-to-face with the one who kissed me.
The one who has held my heart hostage since yesterday.
“You mean half a turtle so you can retreat into your shell?” he asks, his voice soft and way too close. “Aww, that’s so cute.”
I can’t breathe. I step back. My heel hits the restaurant door. “Wha … What …?”
“By the way, how did it turn out?” he asks.
I swallow. “Y-You mean the article?”
“The pic you snuck of me when you first came out here.”
Why do I keep finding Cole’s face so close to mine when we’re together? Why does this keep happening? Why am I just as excited by it as I am terrified?
I look down at my phone. It’s blurry. I left my glasses at the table. Wait, no, I’m wearing them. Are my eyes blurry from fear? “S-Sorry. I didn’t mean to take it. I just, um—”
“You don’t have to apologize. It’s what you do. You take pics and capture moments. I get it, it’s your instinct.”
It bothers me how quickly he understands things I don’t say. Like he’s in my mind. Like he’s the drummer of my heart, beating it for fun, tom drums and bass drums and snappy snares.
Does he enjoy being the percussionist of the madness going on inside of me?
“I wish I could just … ‘capture the moment’ the way you do,” he admits with a funny little sigh. Even his laughter sends chills of delight up my neck. How does he do that? “Anyway, can I see it?”
I fumble with my phone, then pull up the photo to show him.
He peers at it, then smiles. “You have quite an eye, Noah.”
My heart grows a mouth and screams.
I don’t know what to do with his flattery. Do I thank him? Do I say something back? Do I throw up and pass out on the ground?
“Sorry,” he says suddenly, then steps back.
I look up at once. “What? Sorry for what?”
“I’m doing it again. Asserting myself on you. Didn’t I just …?” He lets out a frustrated chuckle as he takes another step back and shakes his head. “Didn’t I just apologize and say I wouldn’t do this? I already told you how I feel. And I kissed you and totally freaked you out. Yet here I go, obliviously pushing myself onto you and invading your space again, uninvited, unwelcomed …”
There’s a vacuum now where his body used to be.
Where his face used to be.
His piercing eyes.
I suddenly make the discovery that I miss the terrifying fight-or-flight response I just felt eleven and a half seconds ago.
“It’s … It’s okay,” I tell him, my voice tiny.
“It’s not okay,” he insists. “I even told myself I wouldn’t do this today, no matter what. I said I’d respect you. I’m a respectful guy. I’m …” He lets out another frustrated chuckle. “Really, Noah, you’d be better off just keeping your distance. I clearly … I clearly can’t control myself around you.”
After saying that, he grimaces, appearing ashamed by his own words, then turns away.
