I know I mostly just hung out at the apartment and messaged with George on and off, but yesterday was honestly the most fun I’ve had in a while.
I like talking to George. I feel comfortable talking to him. And I don’t feel comfortable talking to a lot of people.
I guess we’ve been… well, maybe not flirting—at least not in a way that would lead anywhere. But clicking, honest-to-God clicking. And that is really rare for me. I’ve got friends. I get along with pretty much everyone. But that deep-in feeling like someone really gets you and you can just beyou? Rare.
Got to say, when Zoe roped me into this, I did not see myself making a new friend here. Of course, maybe I actually haven’t.Maybe it’s one-sided. Maybe he’s just conveniently latched onto me as a way of procrastinating on this book he’s stuck on.
Jesus, maybe Zoe just full-on put him up to it. He for sure seems too nice to say anything if she did.
But somehow, I don’t think it’s any of that. I don’t know how I know, especially with someone I’ve only just met.Haven’tmet actually.
But I think—I know—it’s mutual.
My phone buzzes on the table.
George
And one horrifically bad escape using a goat and a fake mustache scene that we will never speak of again.
Well now I need to know more. Who was wearing the fake mustache? Was it the GOAT?
I’d tell you but…
…you’d have to kill me?
Worse. I’d have to protect you from my editor, who would be hellbent on killing anyone who knew this scene existed.
Aaaand now I’m sitting in the man’s apartment grinning to myself like a total dork.
I can’t help it, though. It’s just… It’s been a while since I connected with someone. It feels damn good to connect.
Oh shit, what are the odds Ruth keeps the store open over the holiday?
Uh… zero. She usually closes up sometime middle of today and opens up whenever she gets tired of her great-grandchildren climbing all over her. Could be a while.
Damn, of course. I should’ve thought of that. I better make a run for it while I can. Few essentials I won’t make it more than a couple days without.
I push down the stab of disappointment I feel at this. What the hell? He’s busy. He was going to be working all day anyway, even if he wasn’t trekking into town for supplies. I fire off a reply, keeping it light just in case any of my pathetic feelings show through the silence.
Coffee?
Toothpaste. Toilet paper.
…and coffee.
I start typing: Well, I’ll let you go?—
You want to keep me company?
Sure
He doesn’t need to know I’m grinning as I delete my unsent message.
An hour later,I’m flipping crepes between texts to George while he walks to town. Every once in a while, I lose him to abad signal, and I keep expecting him to just disappear. After all, we’re just chatting about nothing, really. But he keeps coming back.
GEORGE
So you just up and moved when your uncle left you the place? Did you think about selling?
