Page 36 of Smoke and Fire
Dahlia:Now we’re getting somewhere. By the way, I might have answered my own question earlier. I snooped through the sent mail and found old emails you replied to. They helped.
I tutted under my breath. Smart woman.
Bastian:You’re quick.
Dahlia:GIF
A road-runner GIF buzzed through my screen, leaving a dirty cloud in its wake. A second reply followed.
Dahlia:#justyouwait
The hint of flirting made my stomach seize. Time to take a different tactic. Not that I didn’twantto flirt with Dahlia. I did. That alone seemed problematic, but I couldn’t define why. It had been months since my last date, and even that had been obligatory. A girl that Dagny set me up with.
The problem? I just . . . I didn’t know how to flirt in person. How to be bright and spontaneous and happy with other people. The absurdity of being a romance author struck me yet again. I could so clearly create a flirtatious exchange on paper because of the power of time, thought, and a delete button. Real life?
Not so much.
Trying to figure out how to flirt over text message without sounding like a creep, and also being this bone-tired, would be idiotic. I’d hate myself for saying something really stupid later.
Better to stick with who I was.
Bastian:To answer your questions: 1. I plan to publish thirty books. 2. The next launch is six months from this launch. 3. I get my inspiration from real life. 4. Plain bagel, veggie cream cheese. Sorry about the wait on my response to the questions. Anything else?
Dahlia:Why haven’t you been snatched up by someone?
My brain stopped working entirely while my heart stalled in my throat. It nearly puttered to a stop like a dying engine.
Wait, what?
How did she have the ovaries of steel to ask such a question so point blank? Then again, both of us hid behind phones. Maybe it wasn’t thatrevolutionary.
It justfeltlike it.
I blinked. What was I supposed to say? Most conversations with women were difficult, which made dating not something I prioritized. Also, I hadn’t found someone okay with me being in dangerous circumstances for two weeks. Looming above all those excuses was the mother of all reasons.
No woman has ever wanted me before.
I rolled my eyes and dismissed that dramatic thought. Whatever hole in my brain it spawned from, it could return to.
Before I could formulate a not-super-embarrassed response, a new text message came.
Dahlia:You’re such a sweet guy. I’ve been reading your email responses.
My tension relaxed. She meant in general. Okay. Dahlia had just given me one of those overtly female platitudes that didn’t really mean anything, likebless your heartoraren’t you adorable?
Easier to deal with than a real question, but still . . . vaguely disappointing. Because damn if I didn’t want her to take the spot of someone snatching me up.
With great effort, my brain started again and formulated a mostly coherent response.
Bastian:You’d be surprised.
Dahlia:I don’t think so. Do you think you write romances because it feels safer than dating but it makes everything not seem so lonely?
Bastian:Um . . .
Dahlia:Just a guess, but I’ll stop embarrassing you. I’m good for now. Check in tomorrow? Just want to make sure you’re okay.
A trickle of warmth and surprise worked through my shock. Whowasthis woman? No one had ever asked me such raw questions before. I didn’t like the answers they spurned.
