“Kelly... he messaged me.”
There was a beat of silence. “Wait, who?”
“You know who! Rio! He just... sent me his number. He wants me to call him.”
Kelly squealed on the other end. “Shut… Up…What does it mean!?”
Kylee sank into a chair, clutching her coffee like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. “He called me his beautiful Idaho. Kelly... I can’t do this. But I want to.”
Kelly didn’t hesitate. “Girl, Call him. At least hear what he has to say.”
Kylee looked down at the message again, her finger hovering over the number. Her heart said yes. Her reality still screamed no.
And yet... she hadn’t deleted it.
Kylee didn’t call him. Not that morning. Not that afternoon. But she didn’t delete the message either. Instead, she moved through the day in a daze washing dishes, folding laundry, helping with homework while Rio’s words echoed like a heartbeat in the back of her mind.
My beautiful Idaho
She tried to shake it off. Tried to be present.
Jake came home later than usual, full of work stories and weekend plans. He kissed her on the forehead, poured a glass of wine, and asked if she wanted to watch a movie.
She smiled. Nodded. Said yes.
But all she could see was Rio’s face in the flicker of the screen.
When she climbed into bed that night beside Jake, the message still pulsed like a secret beneath her skin. Every time he turned toward her, she stiffened, unsure if it was guilt she felt or theburn of longing for someone else. She couldn’t sleep. Not even with Jake’s breath steady beside her. The room was dark. Quiet.
Kylee slipped out of bed and padded to the kitchen, barefoot, the cold tile grounding her. She stared out the window into the night, phone clutched in her palm.
She opened the message again. Reread it for the tenth time. A thousand images from New Orleans flashed through her mind, his eyes that voice, the tension, the almost-kiss.
Was it real?
Was he serious?
What did he want now?
She thought of her kids. Her marriage. Idaho. Her life before that trip.
Before him.
But the thought that someone like Rio Riot remembered her… wanted her… had been thinking about her? That stirred something too big to ignore.
She locked her phone and pressed it to her chest. “I can’t do this,” she whispered. But the thought of never knowing what could’ve been? That might haunt her more.
It was nearly midnight when Kylee found herself sitting at the edge of her bed, the glow of her phone casting soft light across her face. Jake was asleep beside her, one arm draped lazily over a pillow. His breathing was steady, peaceful… clueless.
She stared at the message again.
Kylee, my beautiful Idaho. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since New Orleans. Please call me. 897-967-5621.
Her thumb hovered over the number, then retreated.
She opened a blank message, then closed it.
Opened it again.
