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I’ve also re-read the texts he sent over and over and over.
After I sent him the photo of my green work boots and turned down his proposal again—and then ignoring how the idea of him marrying someone else makes my stomach feel—he’d sent me a photo with the caption my work shoes. They were shiny black dress shoes and they’d been propped up on what was clearly the leather seat of an airplane. A private airplane.
Lord, we have nothing in common.
But the next morning, I’d sent him a photo of my bare feet in the dirt beside my strawberry plants. I’d added, No shoes required.
He’d sent me a photo of his bare feet propped up on a chaise lounge chair by a bright blue swimming pool. Same.
I’d laughed.
We are definitely not the same.
So what the hell is the point of being interested in him?
He’s a prince. He’s in charge of a country. He’s up in front of people, in the public eye, constantly being watched. He’s the absolute opposite of my type as a guy could possibly get.
Still, tonight I’m thinking about him again, and I’ve had a couple of drinks, and I want to call him.
I’m not going to, of course. I have way more self-control than that. Not to mention self-respect.
But texting is different. If there’s a good reason for the text.
I look down at my feet and think about the fact that he texted me first. About my shoes. And ignore that he also mentioned setting a wedding date.
So…fuck it. I’m texting him tonight.
I snap a photo of the low-heeled leather ankle boots I’m wearing tonight. They’re not sexy or especially cute. They pull on and scrunch a little at the top, but they’re plain black without any adornment. They’re definitely cuter than the green rubber boots, though. I’m wearing these with a sundress that hits me just above the knee, so I make sure to get some leg in the photo.
Why?
I don’t know.
To me, flirting is a little like sales: you’re trying to convince the other person they’re interested in what you’ve got by putting all the good things up front and hiding the bad.
And I suck at sales.
Because I think people make better decisions when they know all the facts. There’s not really “good” and “bad” in most things. What one person thinks is a pro, can be someone else’s con. In my opinion, that goes for pancakes, cars, innovative agricultural systems, shoes, and even other people. I think it should all be spelled out from the beginning.
I open my texts, find the ones from him, ignore the way my heart does a little flip in my chest, and start a new message.
Thought you’d like to know I do have other boots.
I attach the photo and hit send.
Even having this text open, this tiny connection to him, makes me feel excited.
I set my phone down and pick up my drink.
My phone pings with a text less than a minute later. I’m surprised. It’s only about ten p.m., and I’m thinking about heading home, but that’s me. I don’t do late nights out. I’ll stay up until one reading, but I’m never out much later than this. I still didn’t expect to hear from him immediately.
Or maybe at all.
Actually, that’s a lie. I knew he’d text back. And that makes my stomach flip.
But I really didn’t expect how hard my heart thumps in my chest as I pick up my phone and open the text.
You look so fucking good in both. And out of both. And I’ll bet out of everything.
