Micah: Mercy House.
7:30.
And before you ask, yes, I intend to be on time and have some manners.
I laughed again.
Mariah looked over from the guest chair.
I didn’t bother hiding it this time.
Me: “Some” manners feels honest. I respect that.
Micah: I believe in realistic goals.
That got me more than the old back-and-forth had. It sounded like him, like a man who knew himself and didn’t need to put extra shine on the truth before he offered it.
Then another message came through.
Micah: And before you say something smart, yes, I know I’m asking you out in the middle of a workday like I’m pressed.
I laughed harder.
Me: At least you self-correct.
Micah: Only when the woman seems worth it.
Heat moved through me so fast it made my shoulders go tight.
He had no business being that steady in daylight.
Which, of course, meant I liked that he was.
Me: Thursday. 7:30.
Try not to say anything out of pocket when you see me.
His answer took just long enough to matter.
Micah: No promises.
But I’ll be there.
I set the phone facedown after that, not because I was suddenly disciplined, but because there are only so many times a woman can look at the same screen before she starts acting suspicious even in a private office.
I reached for my water, took a sip, and exhaled.
Mariah made a tiny sound of satisfaction.
She grinned. “So. What we wearing?”
I pointed at her with the bottle. “You are entirely too fast.”
She shrugged. “No. I just know what the face means now.”
So did I.
five
