Jake:The buns too.
Madison:And?
I hesitate. Then type the truth.
Jake:And you.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Madison:Careful there. That almost sounded like a compliment.
Jake:Don't let it go to your head.
Madison:Too late. My head is enormous now. Can barely fit through the serving window. Okay, customers are lining up. Talk tonight?
Jake:Yeah. Talk tonight.
I put my phone away and try to focus on work. It's harder than it should be. I keep thinking about her in that truck, smiling at the camera, miles away and getting farther every minute.
Three hours later, my phone buzzes again.
Madison:Sold out of cinnamon buns. Had to make a second batch. The cowboys here are HUNGRY.
Jake:Told you. Irresistible buns.
Madison:A few of them tried to get my number.
Something tightens in my chest. I type and delete three responses before settling on:
Jake:Can't blame them. Good buns are hard to find.
Madison:Are we still talking about pastries?
Jake:Were we ever?
I stare at the screen. We're dancing around something. Both of us feeling it out, neither willing to be the first one to say what this actually is.
Jake:This is dangerous.
Madison:Dangerous how?
Jake:The kind of dangerous where I'm sitting at my desk thinking about cinnamon buns instead of doing my job.
Madison:That does sound serious. You should probably think about something else.
Jake:Any suggestions?
Madison:I hear boundary disputes are very engaging.
Jake:You're hilarious.
Madison:I know. It's part of my charm. Okay, more customers. Talk later?
Jake:Yeah. Later.
It's another two hours before I hear from her again. I've gone home by then, eaten a sad dinner of leftover soup that tastes better than it should because she made it, and settled on the couch with a book I'm not actually reading.
Madison:Made it to the hotel. Exhausted but happy. Good first day.
