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“Jump out of the bushes, point a finger in his face, force him to tell me what his problem is.”
“I know you’re joking, or at least I hope you are, but just in case—don’t do that.”
“Fine. But then you tell me what I should do to get him to talk to me.”
She squished her lips together and pulled them to the side. “Can I see the texts?”
I showed her my phone.
Her expression went blank. She blinked at the screen. “You didn’t tell me you were sending him these pictures.”
“Well, I am. It’s our thing.”
“Maybe he’s not so into it.”
“Psh.” I waved away the suggestion, but the sentiment danced around in my brain. Maybe Morgan was right. Maybe the problem was the pictures.
“He needs your help, right?” Morgan asked. “For his image.”
“Right.” At least he used to. “Unless one post did enough to fix things for him. Do you think that’s possible?”
“I doubt it.”
“Yeah. He should be as desperate to see me again as I am to see him.”
“Writing troubles?” She raised a brow, but the look in her eye suggested she had other thoughts pinging around in that big beautiful brain of hers.
“Well Sunday, afterthe encounter,I wrote. It’s a decent little blog post about my favorite hotdog carts that I haven’t posted yet.” Most of my creative energy went to starting a new project, one I hadn’t intended on writing. It was more of a journal than anything, about my time with world-class grump Gabriel Stryker. I wasn’t going to share that with anyone ever, even my best friend.
“I look forward to reading it,” Morgan said. “Did you mention the little bodega on Market?”
“Did I mention the bodega on Market?Of course I mentioned the bodega on Market. They’re the only ones to do the chicken teriyaki dog with that killer slaw. It wouldn’t be a best-of list without that slaw.”
Morgan raised her hands in mock defense. “Okay, okay. Got it.”
We both chuckled.
“Well for what it’s worth,” she said, “I think Gabriel is going to contact you. And your best bet is to play it cool. Don’t come on too strong. He seems…reserved. I bet you’ll have better luck getting him to commit to more time together if youdon’tambush him from the bushes.”
But bush is right in the word ambush.Clearly the English language wanted me to do it. I didn’t share that with Morgan, though. Instead, I said, “That’s possible. I will wait, at least another day.”
“At least two.”
“One and a half.”
She shrugged. “I tried.”
Then she yawned.
“You should go,” I said. “Drink your tea at home, get some good sleep.”
“Yeah. I’m starting to think as soon as I walk into my bedroom I’m going to crash, tea or no tea.”
“Good.”
We both stood.
“When he does text,” Morgan said, “which he totally will, you have my blessing to spend time alone with him.”
