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“I said I’d think about it, not that I’d come,” I repeat, a smile on my lips.
“Let me know when you find a flight that works. I’ll buy your ticket.”
“I can afford a ticketifI choose to come and that’s a big if,” I cut in.
He chuckles. “You’ll be there.”
“You sound awfully sure of yourself,” I tell him.
“If you think about me even a fraction of how often I think about you, there’s no way you won’t make it happen.”
“I see, so you’re testing me then.” I laugh.
“Maybe.” The humor in his voice is undeniable. “Alright, babe. I’m gonna let you get some sleep. I’ve got a few things to wrap up before I have to be back on the bus.”
“Okay,” I say, trying my best to mask my disappointment but not sure how successful I am.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Dream sweet, Lennon.” And the call ends.
Letting out a loud sigh, I stare up at the dark ceiling for about sixty seconds before I peel myself out of bed and cross the room to where my laptop is charging on my dresser.
Disconnecting the power cord, I’m back in bed seconds later, the computer powering up in my lap. It takes me all of five minutes to find a flight to Houston that’s scheduled to arrive at four p.m. next Friday which will give me plenty of time to make it to Hudson’s show.
Shooting off a quick email to Mr. Barrett and Emma explaining I’m going to take next Friday off work, I purchase the plane ticket before I really give myself time to think about it.
