But these days, aimless scrolling appears to be the norm.
My options are limited to an app where people can, andwill, ignore you if your ab-to-face ratio is unbalanced or there isn’t an immediate social exchange ready for the taking. It’s fascinating, really. The way mortals have managed to take something as innate as desire and whittle it down to a series of cropped, blurry photos and “you up?” messages.
A soft thump interrupts my contemplation as Seby gracefully leaps onto the couch. He studies my phone with a look bordering on judgmental.
“Not a word,” I mutter, gently scratching behind his ears. He purrs dismissively.
I’m seconds from deleting the app altogether when my thumb pauses, caught on a profile.
Levi.
His photo is refreshingly honest: freckles, casual smile, red hair disheveled. Levi doesn’t hide behind angles or filters. I hover uncertainly, because the jury is out on if I’m a masochist or just unbearably horny, before finally clicking his profile.
Plant daddy and professional yapper. Ask away.
A laugh escapes me. Levi is everything I’ve avoided. Bright, openhearted, impossibly genuine. He’s also managed, in just a few days,to make himselftoopresent in my life. In a sea of anonymity, Levi has put his best foot forward with full transparency. Dimples and all.
Unexpectedly, I find myself typing.
Me:Is my trivia invitation still intact?
The reply comes swiftly, almost as if he’s been waiting.
Levi:There’s NO WAY I’m talking to THE Hayden Harlow right now.
I fight a smile, sip my wine, and reply.
Me:And by THE Hayden you mean…
There’s a brief pause. I can almost picture his grin widening.
Levi:Oh, you know exactly what I mean. If I promise to be nice, can I please still call you Funeral Guy?
The nickname, irritatingly endearing, is quickly becoming familiar. Normally, I’d protest something so overtly playful. But with Levi, it feels different. Warm, teasing, inviting…it does something to me.
Seby stretches, then curls up against my thigh.
Me:I wasn’t aware I had a title.
Levi:One of many, actually. Mysterious, broody funeral director. City hall’s number one fan. Freakishly good at trivia. Wears more layers than Stonevale weather requires. Shall I proceed??
This time the laughter comes easily, echoing through my apartment. Levi’s effortless humor feels like forgiveness, reassurance that the small missteps between us don’t have to be permanent barriers.
Me:You’re oddly fixated on my wardrobe.
Levi:You’re oddly fixated on wearing only black.
He’s quick. Faster and more perceptive than I’d anticipated. My pulse races slightly, curiosity deepening into something riskier.
Me:It’s called consistency. It adds to my carefully cultivated “town mystery”…or so I’m told.
Levi:Lol or…and hear me out…it’s called “I have something to hide.”
My fingers hesitate. He has no idea how right he is. A shiver crawls down my spine. The truth skims close enough to raise my shadows. I nearly withdraw, silence this conversation, when another message appears.
Levi:You overanalyze.
I exhale softly, a reluctant smile forming. It feels strangely important that Levi sees beyond the image I’ve spent lifetimes constructing.
