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I lowered my phone as a smile split my face in two. My jaw came off. Eyebrows rocketing into the stratosphere. He must have been smiling when he wrote that. Had to have been! I closed my eyes and imagined it. Those two dimples appearing as the marble facade of his stoicism melted into the beauty of happiness that always lurked beneath the surface. God, I missed it more than I realized.
Me:Okay, okay, I’ll stay home.
Me:Probably a good thing. After everything today, I needed a drink and shouldn’t get behind the wheel right now.
Bennett:I’m sorry you’re going through what you are.
Bennett:Don’t drink too much, though. It’s never the answer.
Feeling braver, I snapped a picture of my martini glass sitting on my nightstand. I contemplated a selfie while sipping, but determined that might have been too much, too soon. Slow and steady, and all that jazz.
Me:It isn’t, you’re right.
Me:This is my second one and then I’m done.
Me:I’m sorry if I’m distracting you from work. I hope no one is getting away.
Bennett:It’s okay. Quiet night.
My fingers flashed, quick as lightning, as I grabbed a link from YouTube of a song about Corcovado, the lyrics echoing Bennett’s last two words. Before I could think better of it, I shot it off to him. Corny, but the sentiment felt right.
Me:They used this song for a scene we shot while filming a movie in Brazil. Studio never released it, unfortunately.
Me:Anyway, your text reminded me of it.
He didn’t respond immediately, which I added into my win category. That meant he clicked the link and listened. I counted the minutes. He answered after four minutes had passed—the length of the video. I pictured him leaning his head back in his cruiser, eyes closed, serenity enshrouding him like the cloak of a protector.
Bennett:That’s a beautiful song. Is that Portuguese the guy is singing?
Me:It is! Wow, good ear.
Bennett:Thank you.
Me:You are most welcome.
I lowered my phone as I felt the conversation naturally slow. Damn it, I could keep texting all night. I’d pull a shot of espresso in the fancy machine down in the kitchen if it meant we could keep this conversation alive. I would chat with him until his shift ended. Until the world ended. (Damn I had it bad.)
The thought of caffeine sparked an idea.
Me:You should stop by for coffee when you get off your shift.
Me:Please, really.
Me:I can’t thank you enough for what you did this morning. It’s the least I could do, even if you were just doing your job.
Clearly, I wasn’t beyond groveling. I had no shame.
Ballroom dancing in the form of three damn dots jumping like fleas on a dog. Stop, start, stop, start. It was almost rhythmic, seeing Bennett’s hesitation on the screen. I downed the rest of my martini. Definitively, I thought,This is it. He would either accept or reject. If accepted, punch the air and whoop. If rejected, admit the losses, cut him from my memory, and move on. It all came down to what happened when those dots stopped serpentining and his message appeared.
Bennett:Is six too early for you?
Fireworks. Centers in my brain lit up and exploded that I didn’t even know existed. Lizard Connor wanted dopamine, and he just received a flood of the stuff. I savored each of the six words he sent, especially the last two. I even marveled at that question mark and wanted to frame the whole thing. He must have been smiling, the kind that showed annoyance but also appreciation for my persistence.
What came next was rapid fire, as if BENNETTBOY88 and CLARKE_KENT pounded furiously at the keyboard.
Me: Six is perfect.
Me:Just pull into the driveway like this morning.
