house.”
“Speaking of . . .” Her face lit up and she reached into her large handbag, “Tada! Happy housewarming.”
Surprised, I glanced at the rectangular white box in her hands. “For me? You didn’t have to get me anything.”
She handed the box to me and clapped her hands together. “I couldn’t resist.”
My heart swelled at Mel’s thoughtfulness. I broke the gold seal on the box, and pulled out the sea-foam blue vase I’d admired at the boutique shop in Old Sac. “Mel! I can’t believe you went back for this.”
“I had to.” She popped up excited, taking the vase with her and placing it onto the dark bookshelf across the room. “I knew it would go perfectly here. See?”
The sea-foam blue vase looked amazing on the dark wood, and it was complimented further by the black and white Swan Lake Ballet poster I had framed next to the bookshelf. The ballet my dad had taken me to on our first father-daughter visit after he’d moved out.
I glanced back and forth between the poster and the vase as I realized that if my parents hadn’t divorced—a phantom ache sliced through me thinking back to that time—then I wouldn’t have Melanie for a sister. My eyes welled. Oh the irony of life.
Mel’s face tensed and she hurried back, then put her hand on mine. “Do you not like the vase anymore?”
“No, I love it.” My mouth spread into a small smile. “And I love you.”
She pulled me into a hug. “Right back at you, sis.”
****
To text or not to text, that was the question.
I stared at the square paper napkin containing ten seemingly harmless digits. I’d confessed to Mel that Paul had given me his number. She’d promptly searched the area code online, determined he’s from Southern California, then insisted that I call him tonight.
Ten digits. One phone. Tough decision.
I stood and circled the coffee table, eyeing the cell on my coffee table and the square napkin suspiciously. Then I dropped back down on the couch and sank into the cushions.
What harm could it cause to send one friendly text? The man had rappelled down a building for me so I wouldn’t have to go alone. So romantic!
Oh, please. I gripped the sides of my hair. It hadn’t been for romance. The guy bartended at the hotel. He’d probably just been looking for an excuse to ditch work for an hour. Maybe he’d even received brownie points for helping a freaked out customer ( moi ).
Then again, maybe not.
I’d just text him. Yes, I would. One text. To be polite. Even my mom would approve of good manners.
Before I could change my mind, I whipped up my phone, and typed: Thank you for rappelling down the building with me.
After I hit send, I gritted my teeth. How lame was that text? I hadn’t even signed my name. He probably won’t know who sent the message and he’ll ignore it. Or delete it. Or—
Ping! Ping!
I ran my finger along my screen to find a return message from the ten-digit Southern California phone number: Anytime, Kaitlin.
Fueled by the zing that zipped through me, I bit my bottom lip and joked back: Anytime? How about now?
My entire body froze. Had I really just sent that? What if he thought I was serious? That kiss had seriously scrambled my brain and—
What’s the address?
Biting my lip, I tapped out: My house is only one-story. And I don’t have rope.
There. Safe. Close call.
Ping! Ping!
Running my finger across my screen, I read: How about I bring over that surplus tile we talked about? See if you like it? I would’ve shown it to you earlier, but you decided to have dinner with your friend.
Reassuring myself his visit was only for the good of my backyard, I typed out my address and hit send.
My phone pinged: On my way.
I dropped the phone like it was on fire. Paul was on his way over. To my house. At night. My heart started pounding in my ears. Freaking out much? Me? Okay, maybe a LOT.
Since Mel had prodded me to call him, I quickly texted her: You told me to text Paul and now
“Speaking of . . .” Her face lit up and she reached into her large handbag, “Tada! Happy housewarming.”
Surprised, I glanced at the rectangular white box in her hands. “For me? You didn’t have to get me anything.”
She handed the box to me and clapped her hands together. “I couldn’t resist.”
My heart swelled at Mel’s thoughtfulness. I broke the gold seal on the box, and pulled out the sea-foam blue vase I’d admired at the boutique shop in Old Sac. “Mel! I can’t believe you went back for this.”
“I had to.” She popped up excited, taking the vase with her and placing it onto the dark bookshelf across the room. “I knew it would go perfectly here. See?”
The sea-foam blue vase looked amazing on the dark wood, and it was complimented further by the black and white Swan Lake Ballet poster I had framed next to the bookshelf. The ballet my dad had taken me to on our first father-daughter visit after he’d moved out.
I glanced back and forth between the poster and the vase as I realized that if my parents hadn’t divorced—a phantom ache sliced through me thinking back to that time—then I wouldn’t have Melanie for a sister. My eyes welled. Oh the irony of life.
Mel’s face tensed and she hurried back, then put her hand on mine. “Do you not like the vase anymore?”
“No, I love it.” My mouth spread into a small smile. “And I love you.”
She pulled me into a hug. “Right back at you, sis.”
****
To text or not to text, that was the question.
I stared at the square paper napkin containing ten seemingly harmless digits. I’d confessed to Mel that Paul had given me his number. She’d promptly searched the area code online, determined he’s from Southern California, then insisted that I call him tonight.
Ten digits. One phone. Tough decision.
I stood and circled the coffee table, eyeing the cell on my coffee table and the square napkin suspiciously. Then I dropped back down on the couch and sank into the cushions.
What harm could it cause to send one friendly text? The man had rappelled down a building for me so I wouldn’t have to go alone. So romantic!
Oh, please. I gripped the sides of my hair. It hadn’t been for romance. The guy bartended at the hotel. He’d probably just been looking for an excuse to ditch work for an hour. Maybe he’d even received brownie points for helping a freaked out customer ( moi ).
Then again, maybe not.
I’d just text him. Yes, I would. One text. To be polite. Even my mom would approve of good manners.
Before I could change my mind, I whipped up my phone, and typed: Thank you for rappelling down the building with me.
After I hit send, I gritted my teeth. How lame was that text? I hadn’t even signed my name. He probably won’t know who sent the message and he’ll ignore it. Or delete it. Or—
Ping! Ping!
I ran my finger along my screen to find a return message from the ten-digit Southern California phone number: Anytime, Kaitlin.
Fueled by the zing that zipped through me, I bit my bottom lip and joked back: Anytime? How about now?
My entire body froze. Had I really just sent that? What if he thought I was serious? That kiss had seriously scrambled my brain and—
What’s the address?
Biting my lip, I tapped out: My house is only one-story. And I don’t have rope.
There. Safe. Close call.
Ping! Ping!
Running my finger across my screen, I read: How about I bring over that surplus tile we talked about? See if you like it? I would’ve shown it to you earlier, but you decided to have dinner with your friend.
Reassuring myself his visit was only for the good of my backyard, I typed out my address and hit send.
My phone pinged: On my way.
I dropped the phone like it was on fire. Paul was on his way over. To my house. At night. My heart started pounding in my ears. Freaking out much? Me? Okay, maybe a LOT.
Since Mel had prodded me to call him, I quickly texted her: You told me to text Paul and now
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