Page 37 of The Best Part of Breaking Up

“Good,” he says. “Because I prefer the smart ones who don’t want to give me the time of day. Just so you know.”

“That’s a fatal flaw if I ever heard one.”

“What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic.”

I smile. “Well, you certainly know your way around a shaft.”

He laughs. “You think you’re cute.”

I tousle my hair, though all of the wave has probably fallen out of it by now. “I know I’m cute.”

Quentin’s eyes flicker like a late night fire, and I know he recognizes the borrowed line.

“What about you? What’s the infamous Heidi Krupp looking for in a relationship? Assuming she ever finds the time to lift this dating ban.”

“This sounds a lot like a personal question.”

“Humor me.”

I sigh. “The usual, I guess. Fun. Handsome. Loyal.”

“You just described a Golden Retriever.”

“Which I also don’t have time for. But you make a solid point. Maybe if I get desperate enough for companionship, I’ll just get a dog,” I say. “Why do you care so much, anyway?”

He’s wearing a look like he’s about to say something incredibly charming, and despite my better judgment, I’d love to hear it. I catch myself leaning a little closer when a too-bright voice takes over the microphone.

“Good evening, everyone, and thank you for coming to Cocktails and Canoes, brought to you by Freeman Maxwell and Lewis! Before we announce the winners of tonight’s race…”

“Ugh, they always do this,” I tell Quentin under my breath. “They get you on the hook and leave you hanging forever. It’s excruciating.”

“Tell me about it,” he says. There’s something in his tone, but by the time I glance over he’s looking ahead, tipping his beer to his lips.

“If we could have everyone who participated in the canoe race, please stand. Let’s give these folks a round of applause!” the lady behind the microphone urges.

Quentin and I exchange a look before begrudgingly gathering ourselves up off the picnic blanket. On my feet, it’s much more obvious how antsy I am. I’m shifting from foot to foot while the emcee announces the proceeds from ticket sales, the partnered organizations, and the sponsors. I hope that bouncing might somehow will them to announce the winners already. I don’t realize I’ve got my fingers twisted into the ends of my hair until Quentin reaches over and takes my hand.

“Hold still,” he says. “You’re making me nervous.”

He gives my hand a squeeze before letting it drop to my side. It’s only a moment, and I’m left wondering why he did it – and if he’ll do it again. I run my thumb between my fingers, one after another, realizing it’s been a long time since I held hands with anyone. Like, a really long time. In hookups, you somehow seem to skip right over the hand holding phase. I’m halfway thinking about this, halfway listening as they announce third and second place. Neither of those are us. Which, I hope, can only mean the winners are…

“Boat seven, piloted by Quentin Maxwell and Heidi Krupp!”

I let out an involuntary squeal. This quickly leads to jumping up and down, which is probably ill-advised for a woman at a work function who is accidentally not wearing a bra. I don’t care. I’m beaming as I meet Quentin’s laughing expression.

“Holy shit!” I mouth to him.

“We did it!” he grins.

And then, almost as suddenly, my feet leave the ground, and I’m spinning. Literally spinning. Laughter bubbles out of me like a champagne bottle being corked.

The reality of what’s happening catches up to me too late. I’ve thrown my arms around Quentin, and he picked me up, and he’s spinning me around, and I’m laughing like I’m on a merry-go-round. By the time he sets me down I realize I’ve made a terrible mistake. In all this teasing and pretending, I forgot to hold onto the most important rule.

Never let your feet leave the ground.

10.

I’ve made plenty of poor decisions in my thirty-two years on this earth.

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