[2022 Wattys Winner] When love cynic Madison Watson starts university, she vows to follow three simple rules.
One: Work out at least twice a week.
Two: Get an internship.
Three: Stay away from men.
But after a chance encounter with th...
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Olive was not my color.
I grimaced at my reflection in a darkened store window, quickly regretting my decision to stray away from my usual black get-up. I wanted to try something different, to be brave and bold. To push the boundaries of what I thought I knew, just like Devi had told me.
Except now I just felt like a martini garnish in jeans.
Oh well. It wasn't like anyone was paying attention to me, anyway. Not when gorgeous, sunny Holly was due to sit across from me in the booth.
Amor Oculto was a cozy corner restaurant tucked away on a sideroad downtown. I hadn't yet plucked up the motivation to check the city out, preferring the comfort of my room and microwave delights to the idea of stepping into town and actually having to talk to people. The old Madi, of course, would have turned up her nose at the recluse I'd become. But she didn't get it. She didn't understand. Keeping to myself was lonely, sure. But it was easy. It was safe. When I was on my own, no one could hurt me.
Noah and James—the latter less forthcoming in actually admitting it—had thought my group date idea was a stroke of genius. And, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it was totally perfect. Dex and Holly could explore the beginnings of whatever was brimming between them in the safety of a group, and the rest of us could buffer conversation when required. Moreover, I could keep an eye on love-sick Dex in the very likely event that he got down on one knee and proposed.
The smell of chili and freshly cooked tortillas hit my nostrils as soon as I stepped into the establishment, the latter decorated with green shrubbery and flowers as if it was a portal into the Lacandon Jungle. The mouth-watering aromas sent my gurgling stomach into a spin, simultaneously parachuting an unwelcome memory to the forefront of my mind.
Elijah and I, in the back corner of our go-to restaurant back home, sharing nachos and virgin mojitos while we laughed and whispered and planned out our lives together. A life that had disappeared like smoke off a candle.
Why did I let Noah talk me into Mexican food? Why not Italian? Or Greek? Or McDonald's? Why not literally anything else?
Forcing the memory back into the dark depths of my mind, I slid into an occupied booth at the very back of the restaurant. "Have you ordered?"
James' amused face popped out from behind his menu, one obnoxious eyebrow raised above his sparkling blue eyes. "Hello to you, too."
I instantly threw him a don't-mess-with-me glare that had basically become my signature expression. At least when James was around, anyway. But I was starving, too starving to engage in a battle of wits. And, thanks to the triggering smells dancing in the air, I was also anxious as hell.
"Not yet," Noah answered my question. "Get whatever you like. This is Tyler, by the way."
I shot my head up and noticed that, indeed, a fourth person was sitting in our booth.
