Page 35
I’m counting in my head and trying not to panic, when—ping.
Crap.
“Let it be Fran. Let it be Fran. Let it be—” I peek at my phone. “Ugh. Not Fran.”
Zev: Hey. I thought maybe you threw my number out.
He’s been waiting to hear from me? I can’t imagine Mr. Hayes needing to wait on anyone. The man is built and cute and sweet. And, while I’m not looking, I still clearly see him.
I can no longer trust Siri. She has no concept of sarcasm or when to send and not send a message. So, I pull up my big girl pants, take two more Advil, and write the man back—old-fashioned style—with my fingers.
Me: I wasn’t sure what to say.
Zev: Anything. I could use a friend. Maybe you could, too. And we do keep running into one another…
That’s true enough.
Me: I could use a friend.
Zev: Do you want to grab dinner? Dutch—because I speak English and I’ve heard you. Friend.
Me: Dinner would be nice—but I’m sick.
And in truth, I’m not sure it’s a great idea. Zev is too sweet. Too cute. And I am too human to not feel some sort of attraction. Even in my broken brain state. Even with the memory of Robert looming.
Me: Like, possibly on my deathbed sick.
Zev: What’s wrong?
Me: Just a flu. It’s kicking my butt.
Zev: I could bring you a new book.
Me: Reading kills my eyes. I haven’t even read the one you already gave me. Seriously… I’m so bored.
Zev: Ahhh… now I see why you’ve texted.
Me: You caught me.
Zev: That’s okay. I don’t mind being your backup boredom buster.
Me: Nice alliteration.
Zev: What if I brought dinner to you?
Me: So I can share this nasty bug with you? I don’t think so. Our friendship is too new for such cruelty. We’d never make it.
Zev: Oh ye of little faith... Besides, I got a flu shot.
Me: Clearly, I did not.
Zev: Does that mean operation chicken soup is a go?
Me: No. And just FYI, whenever you use the phrase “operation anything,” it gives away that you might be a dork.
Zev: I thought we were both dorky. We met reading, then again at a bookstore.
Me: That doesn’t make me dorky. It makes me well-read.
