Sent — 10:43 PM
Ellie: I know this is sudden but… I think I'm in love with you. I notice every little thing you do. The way you tap your fingers on the counter when you're nervous. The way you always ask for oat milk but secretly prefer whole. The way you smile at me like you don't know it breaks my spine. If you feel the same… maybe smile at me tomorrow. I'll be wearing the red apron.
She stared at the message on her phone like it had just grown horns. Her thumbs hovered above the screen. For the first time in 24 years, Eleanor Diaz had made a bold move in love—if "bold" meant possibly ruining everything and vomiting in a mop bucket.
Her hand trembled as she tapped Send.
It was only after she flung the phone onto her couch and did three full laps around her apartment (one with a broom for emotional support) that she heard the ding.
A reply.
She picked up the phone.
Unknown Number: Well, this is awkward. I don't even drink milk.
She blinked. Once. Twice. Ten times.
Ellie: Wait. WHO IS THIS.
Unknown Number: Not Oat Milk Guy, apparently. But thank you, I'm flattered. You have great taste in tapping fingers.
Her soul evacuated her body.
"OH MY GOD, I TEXTED A COMPLETE STRANGER," she screeched into her couch pillow.
Her cat, Basil, meowed judgmentally.