Page 4 of Dancing in the Dark

Thanks. I’ll see you at 9 sharp.

He says thanks like I’ve already agreed to his request. Like I’m a genie begging to make his wishes come true.

Well, sorry, Anderson, but you’re shit out of luck.

I tap on the bottom of my screen and type.

Me:

Sorry, not only can’t I give you the entire morning, but I also need to move your 9am to 10:30am.

Mayor Lawrence has other commitments he must see to. Since you already told me you’re available, I’ll plug you in for 10:30, and in thanks for your flexibility, I’ll give you until noon. Then we have somewhere else to be.

Hitting send, I pick up my wine and take a long sip, careful not to smoosh my face-goop onto the lip and destroy the delicious flavor of good wine, then I ignore the small bouncing dots warning me of Anderson’s imminent response, exit our chat, and move to my next set of unread messages.

Charlie:

Hey. I hope you’re doing okay. We miss you.

Mia keeps asking about you. So, if you wanted to call her this afternoon, you could.

Actually, Mia’s with Cato. You could call his phone if you want. Either way, I promised never to get between you and my daughter, even if you and I aren’t doing great.

I know I didn’t handle our date night well. I’m really sorry. I’m not accustomed to checking in with anyone except whoever has Mia, so by the time I remembered you, it was already too late.

Wait! That sounded bad. I don’t mean “by the time I remembered you” like you’re a forgettable person or anything. That’s not how I meant it. I just meant… by the time I got a second to catch my breath.

I sound like a fuckin’ idiot. Like always.

Anyway. Arch and I have been called out for a case, which is why you can call Cato’s phone if you wanna chat with Mia.

But if you don’t wanna call her, or you don’t have time, that’s okay, too. It’s not your responsibility or anything, and I didn’t tell her I’m texting you, so it’s not like she’s expecting the call.

I wish someone would stop me from texting you all my rambling bullshit. I wouldn’t wanna talk to me either. I’m an imbecile.

I shake my head, charmed by his bumbling explanations, and yet, wary too. Because this is who he is. Charlie Fletcher: workaholic, parent, nervous over-explainer, and ultimately, too busy for me.

Before I get the chance to respond, a new text pops up with Anderson’s name on it, so I jump across to that screen and wish I could block his number altogether.

Anderson Markum:

What commitments does he have that warrant rescheduling me? That’s not how these things work, Sera. My office confirmed 9am a week ago.

I’d like to respond with: stick a fork in your eye, give it a twist, and shut the hell up.

But that would be bad, so I take another sip of my wine, set my glass down, and tap out something much more professionally acceptable.

Me:

The mayor’s commitments have absolutely nothing to do with the upcoming port agreement. Therefore, they’re not a topic I’ll discuss with you. I’ve scheduled you in for 10:30am. If you cannot make it, please let me know. If you can, we’ll see you then.

Hitting send, I back out of that chat and ignore the bouncing dots again, then I go to my next set of unread texts.

The first arrived five days ago.

Unknown:

htM8%^