I stare through the bookstore window.
A guy with purple hair is shelving paperbacks while an orange cat sleeps on a chair beneath a handwritten sign that says NOT FOR SALE.
Perfect.
I type again.
Me: I want to take you on a date Friday.
This time I send it before I can edit myself into an idiot.
Three dots appear almost immediately.
Disappear.
Return.
Hannah: A date.
Me: Yes.
Hannah: Define date.
I smile.
Me: Two people who are attracted to each other intentionally spending time together.
Nothing.
Then:
Hannah: You appear overly confident about one portion of that definition.
Me: You asked why I wasn’t kissing you.
Hannah: I was conducting a policy review.
Me: Your policy seemed frustrated.
Hannah: Where?
I send the picture.
The typing bubble appears.
Stops.
Appears again.
Hannah: Is that a bookstore?
Me: Used bookstore.
Hannah: There is a difference.
Me: I’m learning.
Hannah: And an open mic?