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And simply, I wantyou.

“Yeah.” Her voice catches. “Iknow.”

“Are you going to make that coffeenow?”

“I should.”

“Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Please.” A whisper. A promise she feels somewhat thesame.

“Good luck with your stories.”

When we hang up, I feel disconnected on more than just the literal level. I’ve tasted this woman. Held her in my arms. Fought with her and fought forher.

It was great to hear her voice. And it wasn’t nearly enough.

* * *

We talk againthe next night, and two nights after that. I text her a picture of the treed area just outside my office, and she sends back a cute-and-sexy selfie of her biting her lowerlip.

We have phone sex the next night.

I make it a priority in my head to find a long weekend I can take off, but it may not be until September. Six weeks has never felt solong.

When Toby video calls on the weekend to run some ideas past me, he doesn’t waste time after we conclude our business chatter. He rocks back in his chair and gives me an amused look. “You sound less grumpy than the last time we talked. Anything to do with Poppy the Reporter?”

“Maybe. We’ve talked a few times this week.” For hours. “I like her. She’s smart.”

“That’s a good sign. When was the last time you liked another human being?”

“I like all sorts of people.”

He laughs.

“It feels like the real deal, though, crazy as that idea sounds,” I confess. “I want to make her a mixedtape.”

“Yeah, that’s not a thing anymore.”

“I know, I know. But like…a mixed CD. USB stick?”

He shakes his head. “Pretty sure kids these day just instant message each other a link to a Spotify playlist.”

“That takes zero effort.”

“Make a custom album cover forit.”

“You’ve ruined thisidea.”

“Don’t blame me. And don’t blame the millennials, either, they’re the future.”

Stubborn optimist. “I regret telling you about Poppy.”

“So it’s not exactly casual?”

“I don’t know.” We got to third-base on a mountain top a few hours before she flew back to the east coast. And I haven’t seen her since, but the sound of her shy little orgasm is still ringing in my ear. “It’s complicated.”

“What’s the problem?”