Page 25 of Sweet Nothings

And again.

I snap the book shut with a huff and toss it beside me on the bed.

Reading isn’t helping.

Groaning, I reach for my phone. I don’t have any messages from my sister. I think about texting her, but she’s a ridiculously light sleeper. Even the faintest noise wakes her. I never understood how she was one of those people who wake at a tiny ping of an incoming text.

I’m mindlessly scrolling through social media when a tiny bubble pops up in the top corner of my screen. I gasp, immediately recognizing the large gold letter ‘H’ as the user's profile image.

With a shaky finger, I tap the bubble and read the message.

Lennon Harding: Having a hard time sleeping?

How could he have possibly known that?

I prop myself up on my elbows and peek through the open windows of my bedroom. Lennon can’t possibly know where I live. Having only been classified as business acquaintances at best over the past year, I doubt he’s taken the time to figure out where I live.

The street is just as quiet and empty as it’s been since I’ve been awake.

I shake my head and feel myself cracking a small smile. It doesn’t last long but it’s enough for me to notice.

Me: How did you know? Unless you’re standing outside my building, peeking through my window like a creeper.

Lennon: I’m not outside your window... unless you want me to be. ;)

My heart hammers in my chest.

Me: Doesn’t answer my question.

I chew on my thumbnail, anticipating Lennon’s response. I may be ignoring his last message in my reply, but I read over it again, aware of his meaning.

A small bubble pops up underneath my message. Three dots roll repeatedly as he types until it comes through.

Lennon: I couldn’t sleep either.

Me: I tried reading a book, but it wasn’t helping, so I found myself absentmindedly scrolling. Maybe you could try reading a book.

Lennon: I don’t even think I own a book.

Me: You’ve got to be joking. Everyone owns at least one book.

Lennon: Have you reconsidered my proposal, Mrs. Harding?

I jerk back as a gasp escapes my parted lips. Apparently, it’s his turn to divert the conversation. I’m quick with my response,ignoring the giddiness I feel inside at readingMrs. Harding.It does things to my insides I don’t have the energy to admit.

Me: No, and the answer is still a no.

My thighs tense and my stomach flips. I haven’t been able to get the other day in my office out of my head. Our conversation pauses for entirely too long considering the rate of our responses up until now.

Now he’s called me Mrs. Harding, too. I wasn’t expecting the physical response that would occur when reading a name that isn’t even mine, but one thatcouldbe.

The bubbles return followed by the tiny, short vibration in my hand.

Lennon: I’m not joking about the book, but even if I had one, I doubt it would help.

His response surprises me. Lennon is relentless in his business pursuits, much like his father, so I’m caught off guard by his lack of argument. Maybe sleep deprivation is to blame.

I stop chewing on my thumbnail and inhale a deep breath before typing out my next message. Curiosity gets the better of me. I must be going out of my mind.

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