My inner sass comes out full force.
“Who are you talking to?” Fee notices my strange behavior, before Hetch can reply.
“Ahh, Mom. She’s checking in,” I lie, forcing my eyes not to stray. Taking my lie for the truth, the girls go back to talking about a new store they found over in the mall, while I hold my phone in a death grip, bullying it to come to life.
It only takes a few seconds for it to happen.
Hetch: Don’t be a fool.
My fingers tap hard on the touch screen, my head shaking at his audacity.
Me: You did not just call me a fool.
I don’t know how I ever fell in love with this frustrating man. Three weeks of no contact and he calls me a fool.
The ass.
Hetch: I think I did, sweetheart.
Seeing the word has the same loosening effect on my resolve.
A lingering want. A fluttering need.
I have to stay strong.
A few simple text messages are not going to sway me.
Me: Don’t call me that either.
Hetch: Drink your water.
Me: I think I’m good!
Hetch: Liberty
Me: I’m not doing this with you. Leave me alone.
I lock down my phone and my resolve and place them both on the table out of reach.
For a few intense minutes of trying to absorb the conversation happening around me, I manage to hold back from reaching out and checking if he replied. But when compulsion wins out, and curiosity taunts me, I give in and reach for the phone.
Disappointment clenches my stomach and defeat burns my throat when I find the screen empty.
Seriously, I feel like I have whiplash.
I’m about to shut the damn thing down completely and put it in my purse when it vibrates in my hand.
Hetch: You’re killing me here, sweetheart.
Me: What am I doing?
I type out too eagerly, but clearly, I’m not too concerned about my quick reaction when I hit send. HIs own reply comes back instantly.
Hetch: Drink the water.
Knowing we’re only going to keep going back and forth, I give in. Reaching for the glass and in dramatic fashion, I raise it in the air—high enough for him to see where ever he is—then bring it to my lips and down it in one large gulp.
“Okay, I think we should probably get her home.” Sophie hands me a napkin when I realize I let a little water spill out the side of my mouth.
“What? No, we haven’t danced yet,” Payton sulks. It’s almost identical to one of her daughter’s pouts.
“Yeah, I’m not ready to go,” I tell them, though not because I want to dance like Payton. I’m not ready to stop talking to Hetch.
Even if it’s only via text, he's finally engaging with me now and honestly, I don’t want it to end.
Sophie is about to argue some more when my phone vibrates again.
Hetch: Thank you, sweetheart.
My mouth moves into a grin before I can control it.
“Seriously, who are you talking to?” Fee reaches across the table and snatches the phone out of my hands.
“Fee, give it back!” I react, but she’s too quick. Her body leans back and curves out of my reach.
“Fee,” I try again, stretching my arm out further. Knowing I’m close, she raises the phone at arm’s length above her head and continues to read through my messages.
“Oh, my God! Hetch is here.” Her eyes whip around the pub, searching him out like I did only a few moments ago.
“Hetch is here?” Payton turns in her seat, following Fee’s gaze.
“Give me my phone back, Fee.” I don’t bother answering Payton. My main goal is to stay calm against my rising panic and retrieve my phone.
“What’s he doing here? Is he following you?” Payton stands, trying to get a better look.
Seriously, I’m going to fucking kill her.
“Ohh, you have another text.” My mouth dries and my hand tingles while she reads it over. “He says, Fee, give Liberty the phone back.”
I don’t have a chance to laugh like Pay and Sophie, my panic still barreling forward when Fee starts typing out a reply.
“Don’t, Fee.” The words are a plea, one she doesn’t heed, so I stand, ready to crawl across the table to grab my phone if I have to.
“Fee,” Sophie warns, “give it back to her.” It’s barely a reprimand, laced with no anger and definitely not a threat, but Fee must see something in it, something big enough for her to stop typing and reluctantly hand it over.
“Fine, you’re no fun.” It’s her turn to sulk. She slides my phone across the table, and I reach out, snatching it back.
“This isn’t a joke, Fee. It’s my life.”
My phone vibrates again, cutting off her reply. And like an addict scoring a fix, I briefly close my eyes and allow the thrill of this soothe me.
Jesus, I think I need help.
Hetch: Meet me near the restroom.
Every muscle down to my toes flexes ready to stand and meet him, but something stops me.
My heart.
Am I ready to see him?
It’s one thing to engage with him via text, but it’s another to see him face to face.