I glance down at the floor, gripping the door handle for dear life. “There’s someone. It’s new. That’s all I feel comfortable saying.”
He smiles, a real, genuine smile that crinkles his eyes. Dad looks like I just gave him the moon with the vaguest piece of information about me.
“Okay. Okay, that’s good. That’s great. I can’t…I can’t wait to learn more about her. If you allow me.”
“I need to think about it, okay? I meant what I said about being done. I meant it, but there’s still that part of me that wants what you want, and I really need to think about it.”
“I understand. I won’t rush you. I won’t. Just…don’t give up on me yet, okay? Not yet.”
I stare at him for a few seconds and wipe under my eye, fleeing the room as if it caught fire. I want to give up on him, and I’m pissed off at myself because I’m not sure I can.
Pulling out my phone, I send a text to her.
Me:I get off in about two hours. Can I call you?
Miss Wrong Number:Of course. I look forward to it. I can’t wait.
I can’t either.
She’s starting to be the only thing I look forward to at the beginning and end of every single day.
18
OLIVIA
He’s never calledme before. This isn’t something we do. I’m nervous. I’m excited. I don’t know what to do with myself as I wait.
I sit on the couch by the window, antsy with that nervous energy I can’t seem to contain. I can’t stop moving, shaking my leg, tapping my fingers on the cushions. I decide to move because clearly the couch isn’t the best place to talk to him. I get up and plop on the small yellow love seat pressed against the other wall.
It’s cute. Bright. The arm of the sofa digs into my back as I lean against it to get comfortable and I groan, annoyed because I can’t talk to him here either. I toss a few fluffy pillows on the floor, snatching the large gray throw blanket to wrap around myself to get cozy.
Checking the time, I gasp when I see his shift is almost over. He’s about to call me.
I can’t sit here either. Maybe it’s best if I get up and stand.
The decision is made for me when a knock thuds on the door. My phone begins to vibrate in my hand and Mr. Wrong Numberflashes across the screen. The person at the door continues to knock, and for a second, I don’t know what to do.
On the third ring, I snap out of my stupor, pressing the green button to answer my phone. “Hey! Sorry. One second. Someone is at the door.”
“It’s so damn good to hear your voice. I can wait. No problem.” His deep, smooth tone is a balm against my soul, soothing every unsettled part of me that was nervous.
I swing the door open mid-knock and the guy is standing there, blue baseball cap flipped backward and his hand raised.
“Hi. I have a package for…uh…” His thick, bushy brows pull together. “Miss…Wrong Number?” he says, clearly confused.
Mr.Wrong Number chuckles on the other end of the line.
“That’s me.” I turn my head and talk into the phone. “Yeah, I bet you think that’s hilarious.”
“I’m sorry?” The courier holds the box out to me, a confused quirk in his right brow.
“Sorry.” I point to the phone, not trying to be rude.
“It is hilarious. I’m so glad I called right at this moment,” Mr. Wrong Number says.
“If you could just sign here so I can show the package was delivered…”
I scribble my name on the device, not knowing how my signature will show since half the time the pens don’t work, and I can’t see what I’m writing. Hopefully, it suffices.
