Page 43 of Meet Me at Midnight

ElizaBeth: All that sounds incredible. Really. But I don’t think we can move forward without doing something else first.

ThunderStruck: What?

ElizaBeth: Rating cookies.

ThunderStruck: If there were a blue balls form of message, that would be it.

ElizaBeth: LOL Sorry. But this is important. Because you think these cookies are the best. I’m not so sure. Chocolate Chip… 8.2/10

ThunderStruck: What??? Only an 8 out of 10?

ElizaBeth: Lemon Cloud… 7.5/10

ElizaBeth: Rocky Road… 8/10

ThunderStruck: Did you give a single cookie a 10???

ElizaBeth: Red Velvet… 7.8/10.

ThunderStruck: Oh my God. Are you sure you were eating the right cookies?

ElizaBeth: The box with the “For Mystery Woman” note on the top and Cindy Lou emblazoned on its every surface? Pretty sure.

ThunderStruck: I think you’re a cookie snob, ElizaBeth.

ElizaBeth: Or maybe my palate is just more discerning than yours.

ThunderStruck: Wow, insulting my cookies and my palate? What’s next?

ElizaBeth: I don’t have any other complaints. But with the way you raved about these cookies, I honestly thought it would feel like heaven was touching my tongue the moment I took a bite.

ThunderStruck: BECAUSE IT IS LIKE THAT.

ElizaBeth: It’s okay, Beau. You don’t have to be good at everything, you know? Everyone has at least one flaw for the sake of the rest of us.

I laugh. Out loud. In my bedroom. All by my fucking self. I don’t know what it is about this woman, but I like her. And the more we chat on Midnight, the more I want to chat with her. She clearly still hasn’t told me who she is, but I’ve learned so much about her in other ways.

I know she’s incredibly smart. Hilariously sarcastic. And gets me to talk about the most unexpected shit. She’s a breath of fresh air that has come at a time in my life when everything was starting to feel stale.

I feel invigorated, which is insane, because I don’t even know this woman. She could be catfishing me for all I know, but I just…can’t stop talking to her.Can’t stop thinking about her. Can’t stop hoping that one day soon, she’ll tell me who she is.

ThunderStruck: Do you think you’ll ever tell me who you really are?

ElizaBeth: I don’t know.

ThunderStruck: If you don’t…where do you see this going? I mean…it’ll have to end at some point, won’t it?

My pulse thrums at the thought of never talking to her again, but at this point, I have to push the envelope. I understand taking it slow, but I’m going to want more to hold a year from now than my fucking phone.

ElizaBeth: I don’t want it to end. Truly. I just…don’t know how to give more than this. It’s terrifying.

ThunderStruck: Why don’t we take it one step at a time, then?

ElizaBeth: One step at a time?

ThunderStruck: Sure. Any progress is progress, right?

ElizaBeth: Okay. What’s step one?

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