Like my mom used to.
A writer?
Not sure. Possibly.
That sounds like something worth discovering.
Maybe.
When you’re ready, I’m here for the beta reads.
And the mac and cheese reviews.
I laugh. My heart squeezes. And I think: what if we met?
Would it ruin everything?
What if we already have? And don’t know it.
Wouldn’t that be crazy?
I FaceTime Maya. She picks up on the second ring, her flawless face filling the screen. Hair is sleek. Blue hoops. Latte in hand. Judgey energy locked and loaded.
“Please tell me this is work-related and not you having another crisis over a man.”
I set my phone against a stack of books and sigh. “Okay, one—it’snota crisis. And two—how the hell do you always know?”
“Because I’m clairvoyant. Also, you’ve got that look. Like your brain’s hosting a late night special calledHorny and Confused. Spill.”
“What if I met my mystery texter?”
Her latte freezes midair. “What?”
I press my lips together.
Maya narrows her eyes so fast her face practically locks into ascowl. “Wait,wait. Are you telling me you’re actually contemplating moving into a visual phase with a stranger who could absolutely be the villain in a Netflix documentary? Please tell me you are not that girl.”
I cross my arms and glare. “It’s not like that.”
“Oh, it never is.”
“He’s not some creeper in a basement, Maya.”
“Yeah? What do you really know about him that isn’t suspiciously charming?”
“He’s funny. And weirdly sweet. And his shirt was glittery.”
Maya sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Girl, don’t you dare let a funny t-shirt distract you from reality.”
I open my mouth, then close it.
Because reality?
It’s standing outside my apartment wearing a backwards hat, lips tasting like heat and red wine, eyes dark enough to drown in.
Maya catches the shift in my expression like a hawk. “Hold on. What was that face?”
“What face?”
