RE:Good night
I am. What’s up?
G.
The response is almost immediate.
TO:Grace Landing ([email protected])
FROM:Colin Yarmouth ([email protected])
RE:Good night
Can I call you? If so, email me your number. If not, no worries. We can chat during normal business hours if you prefer.
Colin
Um, yes? What fairy godmother has come a-knockin’ on my door on this fine April night? My stomach does a flip. It’s accompanied by a lengthy fart, but there’s nobody listening. Yet.
TO:Colin Yarmouth ([email protected])
FROM:Grace Landing ([email protected])
RE:Good night
(917) 555-0216.
It rings a minute later.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” he says. His voice is melted butter seeping through my phone, drowning me like a decadent bite of lobster tail.
“Hi,” I respond, already swooning. The man has said one whole syllable and I’ve come undone.Pull it together, Gracie.
“How are you?” he asks.
Dying. Possibly already dead. For real, we might need to call someone. I think I’m having palpitations.“Good. How are you?” I ask, like a kindergarten child playing that game where you mimic everything the other person says until one child bursts into frustrated tears and/or inevitably bites the other child on the arm.
“Oh, my whole life is just a big celebration.”
His response renders me speechless.
“You still there?”
I cough.
“I was kidding. Quoting you, remember? Are you sure this is an okay time to chat?”
I clear my throat.This beautiful man—nay, this gift from the universe!—is going to hang up the damn phone because you can’t behave like a normal functioning adult. Dammit, Gracie! Just be normal!“Superduper,” I respond. Then, legit, I smack myself in the forehead. Who fucking speaks like that?
“I mean, I just figured it’s easier than emailing back and forth if we’re both awake.”
“Totes McGoats,” I respond. Good Lord. It’s like my mouth is just on autopilot. I have zero control. Note to self: do not engage in conversations with attractive humans past midnight, when you clearly morph from an intelligent wordsmith into a bumbling five-year-old.
“Do you always rhyme when you speak?” He laughs.
My sweet Jesus. I laugh aloud. It’s better than words. Maybe we can have a conversation like this, where he speaks and I just grunt.
