Behind the Scenes

Chapter Four

          How'd you know? Can you hear my pacing from over there? Lol

          My message receives the "read" checkmark almost immediately, and the ellipses appears to show he's typing back.

          Which means he was waiting for my response.

          I squeal with glee.

          So THAT'S what that sound is. lol. Speaking of, different hotels? wth?

          Didn't you know? The movie star treatment is reserved for, like, ACTUAL movie stars. So what one are you at, the Plaza or something?

          Doubletree. It's not THAT swish.

          I take a second to Google what "swish" means, and learn it's British slang for "cool" or "hip." 

          Hmm, sounds like something someone staying in a 5-star resort would say, I reply. 

          My room doesn't even have a couch, mate. 

          Lol! I have a couch. 

          And then, because I'm feeling sort of giddy and just had my hair professionally done, I take a quick selfie of myself faux-lounging on the hotel couch and send it to him. He reacts with a heart, which I try not to read too much into. 

          A moment later, a picture of the bed in his hotel room pops up in the text thread, duvet already rumpled on one side as if he'd taken a nap. 

          How's the bed? :P I ask. 

          Roomy, he replies, and I try not to read too much into that, either. Now yours. 

          I walk to one end of the room and take a picture, then send it off. 

          Yours has a definite vibe. I dunno how to describe it. 

          I cross the room to the bed and lie on my stomach, typing at rapid-fire speed. 

          It was an old bookstore or something back in the 1800s. My publishers love themselves a theme. 

          Ah, that's it. 

          What?

          The vibe. It's definitely haunted. 

          I look around myself at the ultra-modern room and wonder how he could've come to that conclusion. A silly smile spreads across my face as I text back. 

          I think your spidey-senses might be off on this one, Pete. 

          Trust me, I'm English. We literally invented ghosts. 

          A knock on the door startles me and my phone flies out of my hands and across the floor. I dive after it to make sure it's okay. After inspecting it for damage, I cross the room and let the hotel staff leave my pizza on the little kitchenette counter. I open the box to the delicious scent of a proper New York City pizza, then snap a picture to mark the occasion. I attach it to the text thread and send it off to Joe, captioned, Dinner is served. 

          He hearts the picture, then says, So that answers that question. 

          With pizza taking up one hand, I reply with a simple question mark. 

          I was going to ask you to dinner. Another time. :)

          I nearly spit the pizza into the sink. My mind is whirling as capital W-H-A-T echoes across my brain and I stare breathlessly at my phone. At that innocent smiley face. At the words "another time," and everything they could mean. 

          I take a chance. 

          I wanted to ask you, but thought you'd be too busy.

          This time, the "read" notification doesn't appear straight away, and I wonder if he's gone off to do his own thing now that he knows I have my own dinner plans. I also wonder why it took him so long to mention it in the first place, and if that meant he was working up to it. 

          If he was feeling nervous, too. 

          It feels like too much to hope for, and yet I do. 

          Finally, I see that he's typing his reply. A moment later, this:

          Always ask. I would've loved too. xx