And then we get to work, sitting Kaci down, spreading a towel on her shoulders, and soaking her hair with lemon juice.
“We’ll let that sit for about ten minutes,” Asher says. “I’m actually surprised this is the first green hair I’ve ever dealt with.”
Kaci laughs, and it’s a welcome sound. “Happy to be your first. Hopefully I’m not the biggest disaster you’ve seen.”
“Definitely not.” I lean against the window that overlooks where the caterers are setting up the outdoor tables. Not looking for Tarek. Nope. “That would be a groom whose friends thought it would be hilarious to shave off his eyebrows the morning of the wedding.”
Even if our conversations are only surface, I’ve missed working alongside my sister, and a task like this with an easy fix is almost soothing. The fact that it’s such a large wedding means I may not run into Tarek. If I see him, I don’t know how strong I’ll be. He’s going to be standing there with his hair and his eyelashes and his smile that knows exactly what we did on that boat, and I’ll remember the heat of his mouth on mine, the sound of his breath catching in his throat. And I’ll want to do it again.
We were just curious. That’s the conclusion I’ve arrived at after a week of drafting and deleting a dozen text messages. Longtime friends who found each other attractive. A chemical reaction. Usually when I’m ready to move on, when I think the other person might want to DTR, I put as much space between us as possible. So I’ll see him, we’ll endure a period of awkward sustained eye contact, and then we’ll be golden. I am amazing at awkward sustained eye contact.
Asher’s phone timer beeps. “You’re good to wash it out. Shampoo and conditioner?”
Kaci holds up a travel bag of toiletries before disappearing into the suite’s spacious adjoining bathroom. A few minutes later, we hear a shriek of glee.
“I’m guessing that means it worked?” Asher calls out, and Kaci flings the door open.
“You are magic. Thank you.”
As the makeup artist and bridesmaids arrive, Asher asks me to check in with the florist. This will also require avoiding Tarek, which reminds me of our first meeting of the summer when I was avoiding Jonathan. Next to Tarek, Jonathan seems harmless. Jonathan was a lit match; Tarek is a five-alarm fire. Tarek is—
“Quinn?”
—standing right behind me.
I spin around in the foyer of the estate, nearly banging my arm on a towering sculpture that probably cost more than my house. “Hey, you!” I say, too loudly. Too much pep. I sound like my mother.
He lifts his eyebrows at my strange greeting—which, fair—and one corner of his mouth turns upward. I am fine. I am great. I am the coolest of cucumbers. I have taken the chillest of pills.
“I wanted to let you know that we’re all set for cocktail hour when the guests start arriving.”
“Yeah, okay, got it, cool. I’ll tell everyone.”
His smirk deepens. “You okay?” He crosses his arms, leaning against a pillar in the entryway like this is just something he does.
“Super,” I say. “You?”
“Similarly super.”
“Okay then. I’m going to…” I mime taking out my phone to text the group chat, nearly dropping it. Jesus. The sustained eye contact was not supposed to be this awkward.
The ceremony goes flawlessly, or as flawlessly as a ceremony can, given there’s no such thing as perfection in the wedding business. For some reason, my parents didn’t like that as a slogan either: Borrowed + Blue: because there’s no such thing as perfection.
I’m in the canopied dining area, waiting to escort guests to their tables, and I swear, Tarek goes out of his way to either glance at me or walk right in front of me every time he carries out a tray of food for the buffet. Harun is here too, and I watch them joking around when they’re in the kitchen, wondering if Tarek told Harun about us.
Though I guess if he’s glancing at me, I’m almost always glancing back. When our eyes lock, my face burns, and it’s not just because I forgot sunscreen.
This is getting ridiculous. I tell Mom I’ve gotten too much sun, that I need a walk and some space. The grounds are large, and it’s easy enough for me to disappear without disturbing anyone.
Sprawling maple trees shade my path as I walk and walk and walk, until I let out what feels like my first deep breath since last weekend, since that microscopic laundry room, since his mouth was on mine and his fingers were grazing my hips and—
Stop. It didn’t mean anything. It can’t mean anything.
It’s quiet out here. Calming. I’ve never been interested in the roughing-it kind of camping trips Julia takes with her parents, but maybe I could get into nature. I am a new and open-minded Quinn. Just leave me out here in the—shit, is that a wasp?
Of course I’m in the middle of my wasp-avoidance dance when I hear footsteps and spot Tarek heading toward me. I freeze, offering up my skin to the bees.
“Hey, you,” he says, echoing my earlier greeting in this low voice. When Tarek says it, he turns those words electric. I feel them in the tips of my toes.
I don’t know how he’s remotely calm. Maybe because he is a mature college student, and I am the kind of chaotic mess who, without fail, gets mascara all over her eyelids every morning and has to wipe it off and start again.
I chance a step forward, keeping a very safe few feet separating us. “Hi.” My heart does this infuriating beat-skipping thing in my chest
