Page 39 of Desserts for Stressed People

Shane:

Your proposition seems reasonable.

Nevaeh:

It’s a deal.

Shane:

Ladies first.

We could go on for hours, I think. Shane is a stubborn man, and in some ways, we might be too similar for our own good. I never give up, though. And I won’t start now.

Nevaeh:

Don’t make me take out the boxed brownies. #NothingToLose

Shane:

Fine. You win. And you’re a witch.

I throw my head back with a grin, then I wait for his message. He agreed to go first. But once again, nothing comes, and I’m pathetically staring at the screen.

When my phone vibrates, I get on my knees, on top of the blanket as my hand covers my mouth. He sent me a voice message.

This moment, the awareness that I’m about to hear his voice, is almost as good as actually hearing it. The rush, the anticipation, the mystery. I can almost taste the sweet mix of it on the tip of my tongue as my body tingles. My muscles tense, my eyes are a little dry because I can’t blink. I just keep staring. Then, I press play.

“Hi. Since you’ve gone all existential on me, I thought I’d take it to the next level. I hope you don’t mind.”He pauses, and in the background Marty tells Biff to leave Lorraine alone.

Though I swallow, the lump in my throat doesn’t budge.

“So...you want to know why I keep texting you. That’s a fair question. I guess...I enjoy your company. Virtual company, that is.”He chuckles, dark and raspy enough to make me jittery.“You might think it’s a line—I probably would if I were you—but when my phone lights up with your name...I just smile so effortlessly. If that makes sense.”

He clears his voice, and my heart hangs on a thread. His voice is so warm. So relaxed. Completely different from Mr. Asshole.

“But,”he says, in a cheerful tone,“it’s not cool of you to say I haven’t asked you to meet. It was literally my first message to you. Which, as I recall, went unanswered. Hashtag-rude.”

I grin, though I shouldn’t. I mean, this puts me in a very uncomfortable position. But I’m so in denial, I can’t help but press my pillow on my face and shriek. His voice makes my chest flutter, and the fact that he wants to see Nevaeh in some ways is mine to treasure. After all, it might not be my picture that he looks at, but it’s me he’s talking to. And he likes me. I can tell.

I revel in that awareness, holding the blanket in my hands and pondering whether I should replay the message or if he’ll get a damn notification. Of course, I can’t send him one. He might recognize my voice. It’s different by phone, I guess—his sounds even deeper—but I can’t run the risk.

I’m still taking deep breaths and smiling at the ceiling when the door of the bedroom opens, and Alex enters. “Hey, did you wash my jeans?”

My grin disappears, but I’m afraid he noticed it anyway. I look down and try to act casual, but I cringe at how flustered I sound as I say, “Uh—no. Not yet.”

“What are you doing?” he asks, taking a peek at the TV.

“Texting with Emma.” My heart is going a thousand beats a minute, but I force my hands to stop shaking. “You?”

“Watching TV. I’m going to sleep—I’m exhausted.”

When he leans down to kiss me, I turn so that his lips press on my cheek and squeeze his hand before he can ask what’s wrong. “I don’t want to get you sick.”

He straightens and shakes his head at the TV. “I still don’t understand why you like this movie so much.”

Yeah, well—I don’t expect him to. And there’s plenty I don’t understand about him, like why he sends pictures of his weiner to strangers on a dating app. “Good night.”

He waves, closing the door behind him.

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