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“I’m sorry. Yes. I guess what I’m trying to ask you is: In a life of free stuff, how are you supposed to know what you really want?”

Lola’s heart sank. Thatwasthe question, wasn’t it?

She felt stripped bare by Aly’s read and was surprised to find herself fighting back tears.

But instead of showing how painfully real this all was, she shook her head and rolled her eyes, trying to project confidence—or at leastattitude. “Wow, ARC. I guess this is why they pay you the big bucks, huh?” She was less than convincing, though. Her voice cracked and trembled as she spoke.

The truth was she had no idea what she really wanted. She just didn’t know anyone else could tell.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Aly said and looked like she genuinely felt bad for pressing. “Just food for thought. You don’t have to answer that one.”

There was a long pause. Lola, still trying not to cry, pretended to examine her fingernails.

Aly offered a tentative “Are you okay?” before reaching a hand across the table and resting it on Lola’s forearm. She gave her a warm, little squeeze.

Lola looked up. Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, Aly’s face looked open, imploring. Like she was actually concerned that she’d hurt Lola’s feelings. Which she had, of course, but her soft hand on Lola’s arm was weirdly helping.

“I’m okay. Just feeling a little…naked,” Lola said, a weak smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Aly’s cheeks turned the color of a strawberry, and she pulled her hand back, as though suddenly aware that they were touching.

“I mean, not literally naked,” Lola corrected herself quickly. “Obviously. It’s a metaphor.” And then, in a moment she’d soon come to regret, she threw her hands up in the air, knocking her glass of water over on the table.

“Oh my god, fuck,” she yelped. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

Aly jumped to her feet as the ice-water tsunami spilled toward her, narrowly missing getting totally soaked. A waiter appeared with napkins, mopping up the table and Aly’s chair, and all the while, Lola held her hands over her mouth, wishing the ground would open and swallow her whole.

Aly sat back down, no longer blushing, a good-natured grin on her face. “Well, you didn’t have to throw your water at me about it,” she said, laughing.

Lola groaned. “I’msosorry.” And then she added, with more than a little bit of sass, “But that’s what you get for reading me like that.”

“Fair enough,” Aly said, holding Lola’s eye contact.

Lola felt something loosen inside her. Yes, ithadbeen a bitchy question to ask, but she wasn’t wrong to ask it. And she hadn’t beenafraidto ask it either. No one in Lola’s life was that honest with her. Justin—and Ryan, for that matter—liked to couch feedback in flattery. Even though it hurt her feelings, she had to admit there was something deeply attractive about being called on her bullshit.

Actually, it was kind of hot. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, suddenly too aware of her own body, of Aly’s body on the other side of the table, and the distance between them. She wondered what else Aly might say to her, what else Aly could see.

They continued talking, and Lola pushed away the confusing swirl happening in her head. So what if Aly could see right through her? She was a journalist. That was her job. It didn’t mean that they understood each other in any sort of unique way. Unless…

Meanwhile, Aly asked Lola her thoughts on the latest runway shows, algorithm changes, and microtrends. Lola did her best to sound cute and interesting, though she had absolutely no idea if Aly was buying it anymore. She would have given anything for a chance to look at Aly’s notes.

The restaurant was slowly starting to fill up with people on their lunch break, which was how Lola realized that they’d been there for over an hour.

“How’d you get that scar?” Aly asked.

“Oh god, you can see it?” Lola was sure she’d covered it effectively.

“I’ve seen photos of you without lipstick on.” Aly said smiling patiently. “It kind of pulls your upper lip up a little? And makes your front teeth show.” She paused as though unsure whether to continue, and then she said, “It’s cute.”

“Oh, um, thank you,” Lola said, growing warm, the hairs on her arm standing up.

Aly had been looking at pictures of her. Lola wondered what Aly had thought, scrolling through her countless selfies. She wondered if Aly had a type.

It occurred to Lola suddenly that her hair was still in a topknot. So much for the nice blowout. She pulled it loose, and it fell softly in golden waves around her face, a few strands sticking to the sweat on her forehead. She noticed Aly’s eyes and self-consciously tucked it behind her ears.

“I was snowboarding,” she said. “In Big Bear, on a high school trip. I did a total face-plant and ruined my chances of making out with anyone.”

At this, Aly grinned. “I pegged you for more of a ski girl.”