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“What do you think, Sasha?” Now that I feel this chapter will close, my kitty can keep her name.
Sasha rolls on her back, all four paws swiping at the plastic bag monster she’s fighting. I rattle the bag, and she hisses.
Good enough. I hit send.
Unless Ensley is asleep, I probably won’t have to wait long for a response. If I’m really, really lucky, she’ll get the apology before the email.
And sure enough, within a minute, comes a one-word reply.
Ensley:Oh.
Me:?
Ensley:I already sent you an email back.
I open my mail app. Because I get so much spam, my phone is not set to notify me about each message. But one arrived from Ensley ten minutes ago, after I sat down to eat.
I read the first line, and the spoon I’ve been holding in my mouth clatters to the table.
You unzip my coveralls, your hand sliding inside them to touch me.
I can’t stop reading. Whoa.
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.
I have to adjust my pants. I’ve never gotten an email like this before.
Of course, I hadn’t sent one like this before, either.
What do we do now?
I take a cue from her playbook and reply very simply.
Me:Oh.
Ensley:Sorry.
Me:I started it.
Ensley:Technically, I may have started it with that first email?
She’s right. There was that saucy line in there.
Me:It’s the shed all over again.
Ensley:Unfinished? Or just hot?
My body stirs. I’m ready to drive for three hours to get to her. I clamp it down.
Me:The wrong moment.
Ensley:Definitely.
A full minute passes. I have nothing else to say. The conversation may have already played itself out.
But then she writes again.
Ensley:Is Snowball around? A cute kitten pic solves most problems.
