Page 12 of The 7 Rules of Moving On
You have no idea, he responded silently.
“Wait.” She patted her hoodie pockets, then her pants. “Wait, wait, wait. I want to give you something.” Pulling out her phone, she retrieved her laminated rules card. “Here. Something to remember me by.”
Taking the card between his fingers, he said, “Kissie, I won’t need a card to remember you.”
“Fine. Then give it—”
“But I’ll keep it anyway.” He slid the precious plastic rectangle into his pocket before she could snatch it back.
Her fingers were so soft when she brushed his bangs back off his forehead. “Goodbye, Hot Bartender. It’s been kind of amazing meeting you.”
Catching her hand, he kissed her palm. “Goodbye, Sexy Bar Babe.”
She smiled at him, shaking her head sadly while curling her fingers into his beard. When she finally pulled her hand away, the lights above him seemed to dim as he watched her walk down the hall, leaving him alone on a piano bench he would never look at the same way again.
When he woke up the next morning, still feeling the ghost of her lips on his, she was already gone.
TWO YEARS LATER
RULE NUMBER ONE: CRYING IS STRENGTH
KISSIE
Ignoring her phone’s near constant buzzing, Kissie rolled over onto her belly and shoved her pillow over her head. It was either her mom, or Dawn, or maybe even someone important like her soon-to-be boss.
She didn’t care, because it wasn’t Bryan.
It would never be Bryan again. Because Bryan was a prick. Bryan was a cheating, double-crossing, two-timing bastard. But most importantly, Bryan was told—by her, in fact—that if he ever called her again, she’d set his house on fire. She’d always secretly known her relationship with Bryan wasn’t a good one, and yet, she was still so hurt by his betrayal she’d gone into hibernation, hiding under her covers and pretending the world outside of her tiny apartment didn’t exist.
“Kissie!”
“Unnnnnnhh,” she groaned under her pillow.
“KISSIE! ANSWER YOUR DAMN PHONE!”
Hauling herself up, she hurled her pillow at the window. “Go away, Dawn! I’m in repose!”
“It’s been two weeks, Kiss!” Dawn shouted up from the parking lot outside her apartment.
“So what? Go away!”
“SHUT THE HELL UP!” the asshole from the apartment below hers bellowed out his window.
Enraged, Kissie jumped out of bed, threw open her window, and thrust her head out into the frigid February air. “NO, FRANK! YOU SHUT UP!”
“Jesus pissing Christ, Kiss. You look like shit. When’s the last time you showered?” Dawn’s expression was the kind usually worn by someone watching someone else pick their nose. “That’s it. I’m coming up.”
Knowing it would be easier to grow another foot than to change Dawn’s mind when she was set on something like this—with her red hair flaming under her snowcap, her hands on her hips, eyes sharp as emeralds—Kissie buzzed her in.
Dawn pulled off her snowcap, looked Kissie up and down, closed her eyes for a long, exasperated blink, then walked straight past her.
“What are you doing?” Kissie said, following Dawn into her bedroom, then her bathroom.
“Smell your pits,” Dawn said after turning on the water.
“I’m not taking a shower. They’re a waste of water, a finite and vanishing resource, in case you didn’t know.”
“Smell. Your. Pits.”
