I type:
Tony:
How’s the mountain air?
Simple. Neutral. Controlled.
I hit send before I can delete it.
The second it whooshes away, I’m tempted to throw my phone across the garage just to stop myself from watching it like a damn televangelist waiting for holy signs.
Five minutes pass.
Ten.
I almost tell myself she’s not going to answer.
Then—
Holley:
Tony?
Just my name.
My chest tightens. Hard.
My thumbs fly.
Tony:
Last I checked.
The typing bubbles appear instantly.
Holley:
Oh my god I meant to text but talked myself out of it and deleted your number to make sure I didn’t. I didn’t want to bother you. I didn’t want to seem?—
I interrupt.
Tony:
Holley. Breathe.
Takes a moment.
Then:
Holley:
Hi.
I grin before I can stop myself. That’s better.
Tony:
Hey Trouble.
