Page 75 of Can We Skip to the Good Part?
They found an available, but less-than-comfortable-looking couch in a dimly lit section of the bar. It was shaped like an elongated clamshell and probably cost more than most people paid in rent.
“Is this the hardest couch you’ve ever sat on as well?” Ella asked, hopping a little to try and get comfortable.
“It’s the literal worst,” Max said with a laugh, giving her hips a shake to see if she could wiggle her way into the cushion a little. No go. “Can you imagine curling up with a good book on this thing?”
“It would be a total mistake.” Ella smacked the couch’s rigid backing to absolutely zero give. “I guess the upside is you wouldn’t fall asleep in the middle of the chapter.”
“Remind me not to try to seduce someone on this thing.”
“Well, there goes my entire evening,” Ella said, her eyes dancing. They were loosening up around each other, and it felt so damn good, like water to someone parched.
“How have you been?”
Ella shrugged, the emotion she’d held back in regards to all that had happened came rushing up on her in a whoosh of untethered feelings. “I’ll say this. It wasn’t my favorite period.”
“No. Mine neither. So, tell me what shifted for you and Rachel?”
Ella quickly relayed the conversation they’d had at the pop-up and sat back on the couch, shaking her head. “Between losing her job and potentially her best friend, I think Rachel is on a journey of rediscovery. Maybe forgiveness is a part of that.”
“I think maybe we all are,” Max said, smiling up at the server who delivered their drinks. “Thank you so much.”
Ella was watching her with interest and a small smile.
“What?”
“You’re always so polite. I appreciate that about you.”
“Really? I’ve always worried I was too direct. I blame law school and my no-nonsense mother.”
Ella leaned her head on her hand, which was propped up on the back of the couch. “Well, you are direct. And confident. I’ll give you those. But there’s an undercurrent of kindness woven into your interactions, too. Best of both worlds. Don’t get a big head, either.”
Max smiled, feeling seen and understood in a manner she wasn’t entirely used to. “Only temporarily. I’ll surely do something to get trolled before this conversation is over.”
“We can only hope.” They shared a smile, and Max reminded herself to breathe, taking in air beyond the nervous, shallow intakes. She knew the reason. She was excited but also so very ready to flip the pages to see where they ended up. She wanted more than anything to skip ahead to a moment of certainty where she knew exactly what they were to each other and what the future held. She also understood that the ground beneath their feet felt a little different than it had before their time apart, and she had to be prepared for feelings to have shifted. She wanted Ella to give them a shot, but she also wanted her to be sure. And what an ask that was. How many times had she cursed and sworn off romance herself recently?
Yet, sitting here in close proximity to Ella fucking Baker, she was falling all over again, the cynicism sliding off of her like a long day at work. Was it dangerous to shove her chips to the middle of the table? Definitely. Maybe she slid one stack at a time and went from there. She reached for her passion fruit martini and winced a tad at the sweetness. Ella made a similar face at her dirty martini, which came with blue cheese olives. Without a word, they switched drinks, an unspoken understanding that it might go better the other way around, and it was the most clichéd couple thing Max had maybe ever experienced.
“Much better,” Ella said, brightening.
“I can safely say the same.” It was a metaphor if she’d ever encountered one. The right drink and the right person made all the difference. Maybe romance was only problematic when you’d ordered the wrong drink for yourself.
“What’s going on in that head over there?” Ella asked, sitting up taller and enjoying her newly acquired colorful drink.
“I’m happy to be sitting here with you, and I’m also wondering what it all means.”
“Because you’re an absolute type A control freak.”
“Who really likes these olives.” She grinned around a bite. “Good lord.”
Ella’s eyes were on her mouth, and that was more than okay. “Good lord is right.” They shared a smile and maintained eye contact that neither seemed in a hurry to break.
“I think we need a plan,” Max said, sliding a little closer to Ella on the couch.
“I thought you might say that.” Ella took a sip of her drink, then held it up in a small toast. “How about two drinks, then home? I’ll grab an Uber, sneak in six hours of sleep, and pretend I’m a well-adjusted adult tomorrow. You?”
She flashed a cheeky grin that Max had half a mind to kiss right off her face. Instead, she just looked at her—really looked—and waited.
“What?” Ella asked, setting her glass on the low table in front of them. A group shuffled past their couch on the way out of the restaurant, forcing a brief pause. When they were gone, Ella turned back to Max. “Not the kind of plan you had in mind?”
