Elijah: You just convinced me.
I frown.
Me: Convinced you of what?
A long pause.
Elijah: That maybe this Anlon is worth it.
I smile, feeling like I just won a battle.
I glance up absentmindedly and freeze.
It’s afternoon. Afternoon!
I’ve spent hours talking to this man.
Pea glares at me from his perch, tail flicking like he’s personally offended by my neglect.
He lets out a loud, exaggerated meow.
“I know, I know,” I mutter. “My priorities are questionable.”
My bladder isbursting.
My stomach isscreaming.
Priorities, Amy.
Me: Can I delete my account now?
The dots pop up immediately.
Elijah: Give me a way to contact you, Fangirl. I think we’re not done.
I blush and immediately feel stupid.
I’m almost a thirty-year-old woman.
Why is my stomach fluttering over a chat box?
I hesitate.
Handing out my actual number feels too personal. Email? Not great for casual chat.
I stare at the blinking cursor.
He could be a weirdo. A stalker. A catfish.
But loneliness makes people reckless, and somehow, today, I don’t want to feel so alone.
And… he doesn’t feel like one. If he wanted to be creepy, wouldn’t he have already pulled some mod-level power move?
Screw it.
Me: Fine. Here. But no weird DMing, okay?
Elijah: Scout’s honor.
