Want to meet for dinner?
Me:
What time?
Seconds later, my phone rings. A shiver runs down my spine at the sound of his Irish lilt wrapping around my name. Before I can speak, he rasps, “Hello, my queen.”
“Hi there.”
I hear papers shuffling before he lets out an expletive. “I forgot I have a neurology video call scheduled at five.”
“With your specialist from Connecticut?” I asked.
“Yeah. He’s…interesting.”
“Oh?”
Brennan chuckles. “He can dismantle my ego in five seconds flat.”
“Sounds like my kind of guy.”
Brennan snorts. “When you eventually meet him, you can tell me your impression then.”
When you eventually meet him. Brennan’s words make my toes curl. “So, dinner’s not happening before six?”
“Six might be early. Who knows? They may decide my ego needs to be researched for scientific discovery.”
I laugh. “I’m fairly certain that’s not how neurology works.”
“You’d be surprised,” he said. “There’s always a tablet and he reeks of judgement.”
“Over a video call?”
“I think that might amplify it.”
“So, do you want to say six-thirty or seven?” I offer.
“That gives me time to pretend I understand everything they tell me before I share it with you.”
“Does ego bashing make you hungry or thirsty?” I tease.
“Both. How about a movie?”
“Extra buttered popcorn and chocolate for dinner? Count me in.”
He pauses a moment before declaring with satisfaction, “Chainsaw Prom: A Love Story is playing at the movie theater.”
I laugh from the depths of my soul. “God, you always have had a thing for outlandish horror.”
“I have a thing for holding onto you when you're surprised by a jump scare.”
My heart warms. “Did we decide on a time?”
“Let’s make it six-thirty. I wouldn’t want to keep you out too late on a school night.”
“I reserve the right for ice cream if this movie is complete crap,” I warn him.
“Oh, it will be an atrocity.”
