I chuckle. Of course she can’t be serious.
Me: Why were you talking to your dad about me?
Portia: ?
Me: What does ? mean?
Portia: I might have said we went to a fundraiser last night.
Me: Is that all?
Portia: You tell me. Is that all?
Me: It didn’t feel like it.
Me: I wish I could see you tonight.
Portia: Yeah, me too.
Me: I’d better let you sleep since you have to run my store for me.
Portia: K.
Me: Are you tired?
Portia: Maybe
Me: What are you thinking about?
Portia: You.
An arrow splices through my heart, and I drop my phone to rest on my chest. Something about late night texting doesn’t feel real. Is she playing with me? I wish I could see her expression. I grapple for my phone and reply before she thinks I ghosted her.
Me: Good.
Me: I’m thinking about you, too.
Me: But you need to go to sleep.
Portia: Night.
Me: Night.
I set my phone down, keeping the text open, rereading the part where she says she’s thinking about me over and over. Smiling so big, like I haven’t done in years. There’s not a doubt I care about this girl. Man, I wish I would have kissed her when I had the chance.
If I get a chance again, I won’t hold back.
twenty-seven
Portia
I lean over the counter at the Coffee Loft as my phone lights up.
Christian: How’s the store?
Me: A little rush this morning. Now it’s slow.
Biting my lip, I press send and wait. It’s only a mere moment later, and my screen lights up again.
