I grin as I finish my omelet and coffee and bring my dishes to the sink, giving them a quick wash before I enter my office.
Falling back into my chair, I can’t seem to wipe the smile off my face.
I nearly collapse on my bed the moment I arrive at my hotel room.
The flight to New York felt like an eternity even though it was only two hours. By the time I got in, got my Uber, suffered through city traffic, and actually reached my hotel, outside the city limits, it might have well been an actual eternity.
The soft sheets meet me and I groan in relief. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I don’t have to look to know who it is.
We’ve been texting for a few days now. Though our exchanges are mostly in short spurts and they consist more of gifs, memes, and sarcasm, I can’t deny that they bring a smile to my face.
Because this is exactly what I missed. The familiarity. The comfort of knowing he’s there. Even if he’s not physically with me.
I’ve debated for days whether or not to tell him about my trip. I know he lives in the city, but I’m not sure he knows that I know he lives in the city, and the last thing I want to do is upset the delicate balance because wejustgot back to being friendly, and I don’t want him to think I’m some obsessed stalker or something.
I’m not obsessed, I swear. Even if we didn’t fall apart, I would have kept tabs on his career, and his life if he’d moved…
I still haven’t told him, though I keep writing and rewriting my text, chickening out at the last minute.
What am I so afraid of?
You know exactly what you’re afraid of.
I pull out my phone, staring at his text.
Hey.
It’s just three letters, but every time I see them, my stomach does somersaults.
Which is exactly why I haven’t told him I’m here, in New York.
If just a text can make my stomach flip, what is going to happen when Iseehim again?
Last time, our face to face didn’t go so well.
Conversing through texts has been a lot easier. At least, for me.
I can be honest and not have to see the look on his face.
There’s also less of a chance I’ll disassociate and start staring at him.
Yeah, that’s totally not-stalker material.
I type out myheyin response, expecting something back, but there’s nothing. Which is weird, but I don’t think too much of it. Maybe he got distracted or had to do something.
Either way, I take the reprieve and force myself out of bed and into the shower.
After a long, hot shower and a good edge, I’m dressed and feeling a second wind.
I don’t have to meet with the realtor until tomorrow morning, so I have the whole afternoon and night to sight see.
Usually when I travel, I stick to my hotel room because I’m always beat after traveling, and in between work stuff, all I want to do is chill and watch some movies. Order room service. Pleasure myself and go to sleep.
But something about this place just feels like it would be an absolute waste to stay cooped up in my hotel room. There’s so much to see in New York City, and I know I won’t seeeverything, but there is one place I’d like to see on my trip.
The Metropolitan Museum of Art.
I google the website on my phone to see if it’s open, since most museums have crazy hours and they close early.
