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I smile at him softly and reply, “I’d love to.”
His answering smile reveals a dimple in his left cheek that I’d never noticed before. It makes him look even more handsome. That’s just another thing that adds to the appeal of him; I love dimples.
“Great! How does this Wednesday sound?”
“Wednesday is good for me,” I tell him, and the dimple grows deeper.
He takes the keys from my hand and opens my door. I grin at his gentlemanly move and he winks at me. He hands me my keys as I slide into my seat, and when he closes my door, I immediately crank it and put down my window.
With his hands on the window, he bends down and says, “I’ll see you Monday at work.”
“Okay. Thanks for the help.”
With another dimpled smile and a tap to my door, he backs up. I maneuver out of my spot. As I drive away, I look in my rearview mirror to see Eric still standing there, watching me.
I pull up to the house and unload the groceries. Once done, I decide to pop in a TV dinner. It’s not often that I cook since it’s just me I have to feed. While I wait for my food to heat, I notice my phone flashing a notification. I grab it and lean back against the counter.
My breath catches when I recognize the number on the text message as the same one from this morning. I’m actually surprised he’s messaging me again. I’d figured it was a one-time deal. I mean, it’s been eight months and no word, so why now? But I can’t lie, seeing his number again sends pleasure racing through me. Is it wrong for me to be a little fascinated with an idea of the man he could be?
I notice the time on the message. He must have sent it right after I got home.
Unknown: Did you have a good day at work?
I smile down at the message.
I still feel extremely nervous about this new development, but I’m not going to let it deter me from trying to get to know the guy behind the flowers. I just hope he’ll be more forthcoming with his answers this time around. I play nice, trying to butter him up.
Me: I did, thank you. How was your day?
The microwave dings, and I take my food out, placing it on the counter as I wait for him to reply. Receiving these messages from a man I don’t know at all feels weird, but a school girl giddy sort of weird.
Unknown: It was good. Busy.
I pull the plastic covering off the black frozen dinner container and place it on a plate. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, I carry everything to the living room, where I set it on the coffee table before taking a seat. My food is too hot, so I sit back and send my mystery man another message.
Me: Are you going to tell me who you are?
Unknown: Not yet.
I grit my teeth in frustration, done with this game.
Me: When?
Unknown: Soon…
Damn it!
Unknown: Tell me about your day.
Why in the hell should I do that? He won’t answer my questions. Why should I give him more information on me? I know that sounds childish and immature, but shit, I have a right to know who he is. Nevertheless, if I play this game, giving him just enough to keep the conversation going, he may slip and give me something I can use.
Me: I woke up, got dressed, went to work, left work, picked up some groceries and came home.
I drop my phone on the cushion beside me, still a little peeved, and pick up my plate. A minute later my phone chimes again.
Unknown: Are you always a wise-ass?
Me: Only when provoked.
