Kill me now.
My face goes hot. I can feel the blush creeping up my neck, one of those full-body flushes.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
I need backup. I need Ethan. I need literally anyone else here to dilute this moment.
I hold down the voice-to-text button and whisper into my phone. “He’s here! Hurry! Don’t leave me alone with him... because I might just climb him like a tree!”
Did I just say that?Whoops.
Well he’s my brother, he’llunderstand.
Siri, that traitorous digital witch, helpfully converts my desperate plea into text.
On maximum brightness.
Just as Marco sits down next to me.
“Jessica,” he says, and his voice is even better than I remember. Low, a little rough, with just enough warmth to make it dangerous. “Good to see you.”
I’m staring at my phone screen in horror. The text is RIGHT THERE, glowing like a beacon of my shame:
“He’s here! Hurry! Don’t leave me alone with him... because I might just climb him like a tree.”
Swipe. Nothing happens. I’m blinking rapidly, trying to blink away sudden tears of embarrassment. My face feels like an oven.
Swipe again. Still nothing.
Press the button. Wrong button. Volume goes up.
“No no no no,” I mutter, jabbing at the screen like that’s ever helped anyone in the history of smartphones.
Marco, because the universe hates me, glances down at the screen.
He reads it.
I blink away enough tears to watch him read it.
Time stops.
The bar goes silent.
Somewhere in the distance, a violin plays a sad song.
Then his hand reaches over, warm and sure, and he presses the side button. The screen goes dark.
“There,” he says, sliding my phone back across the bar. “Crisis averted.”
Can the earth please just hurry up and open? As in swallow me whole?
Right now?
Or maybe I can go back in time and tell teenage Jess that yes, avoiding all human contact forever is a perfectly valid life strategy.
“I can explain,” I start, then realize I absolutely cannot explain.
“Trees are seasonal,” Marco says, completely deadpan. “I’m year-round.”
