Page 15 of Texting Mr. Stranger

It’s like a way to connect deeper beyond just the notes.I click send, wondering what she’d think if she knew I was holding that image of her stubbornly in my mind, remembering her pursed lips, furrowed brow, and tempting and attractive concentration.

It’s like finding a part of yourself in the music or maybe a part of someone else.

I swallow, leaning back in my chair, staring at the “someone else” line. I want to ask if she has a boyfriend. Perhaps she and her long-term boyfriend bonded over music. Maybe I need to kill this whatever-it-is before it gets started. It’s not like we even know each other. Hell, I could even send a couple of the men with Sofia instead of going myself tomorrow.

Perhaps that’s why it’s so powerful,I reply, as though I can’t stop.It’s personal, yet universal.

Absolutely. It’s like sharing a moment, even when you’re alone.

Sometimes,I go on,it’s like the music understands you better than anyone else.

Wow, that’s so true, Matt. It’s nice of you to take such an interest in this. When did you start listening to this kind of music?

Two years ago, when Sofia first expressed an interest in it,I tell her.I wanted to talk about her hobby with her. I never expected actually to enjoy it myself, though.

Oh no? What sort of music do you like, then?

Truthfully, I don’t listen to music.

WHAT?!

I let out a laugh. It sounds out-of-place in my large office, the tall windows showing a raindrop-coated view of the city.Seriously. Apart from the violin stuff for Sofia, I can’t remember the last time I listened to anything.

What about when you’re driving?

I keep the radio off.

Do you realize how insane you sound right now?

I laugh again. It feels so good, like I’ve been waiting for this for a long time. It’s the release I never knew I needed.

I’m sorry,her next text reads.I shouldn’t have said that. I forgot I wasn’t talking to a friend for a second.

It’s like the text slaps me across the face. Of course, I shouldn’t give a damn. Idon’tgive a damn, but there’s something about the message that pisses me off.

You don’t have to apologize,I reply.You’ve done nothing wrong. See you tomorrow.

I put my personal cell in the top desk drawer on silent, promising not to check it again until I finish all my work. I’ve never had this problem before.

CHAPTER EIGHT

BELLA

Emily raises her eyebrow at me from her chair across the room with intense interest on her face. “What do you mean … romantic?”

I shrug, trying to make it seem like no big deal. “I’m probably reading too much into it, honestly. But there was something about his texts and how he talked about music …”

I’m underselling the feelings reading his words provoked in me. I didn’t expect the tall, handsome, serious-looking man to have that side. It makes me want to get to know him, which, obviously, isnotthe point of all this.

“Are you telling me you’ve got some poetry for me to decode?” Emily says, grinning.

I roll my eyes. “You want to hear the texts?”

“It’s up to you. Not if they’re private.”

“It was just a casual talk about music.”

“Then why are you sored?” she says, beaming.

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