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My entire body goes warm.

Oh.

Game on.

Christopher lives in a townhouse about twenty minutes from me.

I park outside at 5:57.

Then sit in my car.

Because I’m early.

Which feels unnatural.

I check the time again.

5:58.

I could wait.

Or—

My phone buzzes.

Christopher: Come inside.

I stare at the house.

Then my phone.

Then the house again.

Did he see me?

I type:

Me: Are you watching me from the window?

Christopher: You parked directly in front of my house.

Me: Creepy.

Christopher: Inside, Amber.

There it is. That low-command energy that is somehow transmitting through text. My stomach flips. Is this going to be a good convo and move our relationship forward or is it one of those we have to talk, conversations where I leave upset? Only one way to find out. I grab my purse, my notebook, and a pen shaped like a lightsaber because if he wants serious conversation, this is what serious conversation looks like in my world.

Christopher opens the door before I knock. His eyes drop to the pen. Then to me.

“I know you are not carrying a lightsaber pen.”

I hold it up. “You said to bring something to take notes.”

“I regret that.”

“Too late.”

He steps aside. “Come in.”