Page 33 of Love at First Sighting

Carter

It all starts with a pang in the middle of my chest—a sharp, stabbing feeling that takes my breath away, straightens my back.

The blow softens to something dull, but just as ever-present.

I think it might be a heart attack at first, that a doctor’s going to need to crack my chest open and make sure everything’s working right in there.

I refused to let my heart beat for anyone for years—maybe my whole life, but one look at El’s teasing smile feels like she’s shoved the batteries back in and forced it to get to work.

I’m falling in love with her, and I’m convinced it’s too late to catch myself.

All because El won’t stop stealing the last of my French fries.

She thinks I don’t notice, but I do. I’m not going to stop her.

“I won by a very slim margin because one of the judges was a huge Jewel fan,” El explains. “Truthfully, the other girl—Brynlee—was a much better singer than I was, but her stage presence could have used some work.”

We’re sitting at an outdoor patio, under rows of globe lights and excessive succulent walls.

It’s a quintessential LA gastropub, with picnic tables and benches, a small Airstream converted into a bar, and cornhole.

It’s meant to scream casual but elevated .

That’s why they put a rosemary sprig in my drink.

It’s not enough to eat a burger. You have to eat the burger on a plank of wood.

I don’t care, though. I’d eat the burger off the damn floor if it meant El would keep holding my hand across the table, nudging her ankle into mine below.

“And I had no idea you could sing.”

“I can’t. Honestly, I got really good at one song.

It felt like lying. That’s what so much of being in pageants is about: convincing people you’re perfect.

And I’m a goddamn master at it.” El sips the last of her drink.

“Nobody cares if the second you step offstage, you burst into tears, or if a girl hasn’t eaten in three days.

As long as it’s a good show? That’s all that matters to some people. ”

There’s something about tonight that feels like everything’s spilling out. For the first time since I’ve known El, we’re just two people falling for each other. There doesn’t have to be a mystery. There doesn’t have to be fear. Whoever we are for everyone else? They’re not invited to the date.

I clocked El nervously hunting for onlookers as we entered the restaurant, and there were a few wandering eyes, but it didn’t change her behavior. She kept a tight hold on my hand and didn’t pull away when I tried to kiss her, like she’s happy to be here. With me.

“Is that why you stopped? Why didn’t you try to go bigger or for Miss America?”

El shrugs. “Yes and no. I wanted to go to college. The money I made doing pageants in high school helped pay for it, and I knew it wouldn’t last forever.

I could use my good looks elsewhere and market myself on my own, rather than doing swimsuit competitions in front of a bunch of stage moms and old men.

I haven’t had to boast about being Miss Teen Central California since, so I’ll take it. ”

“Damn, and to think all I have in my back pocket is winning Best Smile in my high school superlatives.”

She leans forward. “Did you really?”

I roll my eyes. “No, absolutely not. That actually went to a girl named Megan Marbles, who wore braces—headgear and all—for eight years and got them off right before senior year. She deserved it.”

El squeezes my hand tighter. “And what was high school Carter like?”

Lost is the first word that comes to mind.

“Probably a pain in the ass?”

“And you aren’t now?”

“Only when I want to be.” I swallow the jokes I want to make, because for the first time, I want someone to see me.

I want her to know everything broken about me just in case she’s the one to put it all back together.

“High school’s bad enough without having to do it all alone.

After the accident, I spent weeks at home recovering.

It’s amazing how quickly your friends move on when you miss that many recesses.

It was hard to gain them back, and besides, no one wanted to dance around every word they said because I was the kid with no family. ”

I’ve always expected people to pull away when I start talking about the worst parts of my life.

Now El holds on to my hand tighter. She wants me to keep going.

Still, the idea of there being an “us” after this terrifies me to the bone.

I’m letting El peel back the layers and layers of trauma each day, and she hasn’t run yet.

She hasn’t seen the worst of it, not the moments when I let myself be broken, but she’s the first person I think might be willing to take it.

She’s the first person who makes me want to try to let her in.

“I bounced around for years. Maybe this random girlfriend would make it all better. Maybe this group of friends would stick. Maybe one day it’d all stop hurting.”

“Did it?”

I shake my head. “That’s the difference. Now I know it never will, but it doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate when things are good.”

El averts her eyes from mine. “And when we solve this mystery? Do you think that will help you?”

“In some ways. I hope it’ll be like finally letting a scab heal instead of picking at it over and over again, but…who knows. I haven’t thought much about what comes after yet. A vacation might be nice.”

El perks up. “Where we going?”

We . When I picture the future, once we close this cold case and put it behind us, El’s still there.

I see her in my bed, wearing my sweatshirts, editing photos.

I see her next to me at the grocery store or on a blanket at the beach.

I can mentally photoshop her into any part of my life with ease. I don’t know if she’s doing the same.

Nothing reminds me how empty my life was like the way El fills it up.

“Oh, did I invite you?” I joke.

“No, I invited myself.”

“I thought you didn’t like traveling.”

“I don’t like traveling with people who suck. But you? I don’t know. I think I could get used to it. You’re a good photographer. I could make use of you.”

“A good photographer? That’s it?” I don’t know why I’m arguing. She could drag me around the world and make me take photos of her in front of every street sign in Paris and I absolutely would.

“Not just that.” El’s fingertips run up the inside of my wrist, beneath the band of my watch, and it sends a lightning bolt of lust right through me. “You have some other skills I’m pretty fond of, too.”

We finish the last sips of our drinks and close out our tab. Part of our goal tonight was to act like this was any other night of our lives. No five-star meal, no grand gestures. Just us being us and trying on a life together like it’s an outfit. So far, it fits perfectly.

I slip a piece of gum into my mouth as El wraps her arm around mine and moves in close. “Thank you for dinner.”

“Of course,” I reply. “I said I wanted to treat you.”

“You did. To make up for your teeny tiny steak.”

“Man,” I sigh.

I halt in my tracks as we pass the windowed front of a camera store on our way back to the car where we’ve valeted at the end of the block. My eye catches on a vintage camera propped in the display case. “Oh shit, that’s nice.”

“Want to go in?”

“No.” I shake my head. “It’s fine.”

“We’re not in any rush,” El says, pulling me toward the door. The bell jingles above us as we step in. A man behind the counter presses his hands to the glass casing, as if to say, Come take a look at my finest wares .

“What brings you in today?” he grumbles.

“Just looking,” I say, bending down to check out the vintage camera from the window. “El, imagine having to shoot your pictures on this baby.”

El steps closer to me, resting her hands on my shoulders. “I’d have to be far better at photography than I am to make that worth it. You, on the other hand…”

“I’m afraid there’s no room in my apartment for a darkroom. Hell, my camera is almost fifteen years old. I’d need something more like this.” I point to a DSLR in the case.

El stills behind me and makes a pensive noise. “Well, that might be an issue when we travel the world together and you take pictures for me.”

“Yeah, I’ll start saving up,” I joke, standing back up. Realistically, scraping together the cash to travel or to buy a new camera is a far-fetched goal. I don’t want to burst El’s bubble—not tonight—so I keep it to myself.

El laces her arm around my back and kisses the sleeve of my jacket. “We’ve got some time.”

“Are you going to buy anything?” the shopkeeper grunts.

“No,” I tell him. “But thanks. Have a good night.”

I take El’s hand and we head toward the valet lot we’ve parked in. I don’t know where the rest of the night will take us, but I’m up for anything. As I pass the valet my ticket, El pulls away.

“I have to pee again,” she says. “I’m going to dip into the restaurant and be right back.”

“Sure, I’ll get the car.”

It takes another several minutes for them to bring my car around, another minute or two for me to adjust my seat back to where it should be, and by then, El’s returned and hops into the car.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” she says, easing her bag onto the floor of my car. “I have an idea.”