Page 9 of Worth the Fall

I turn the phone to face her and she immediately shakes her head.

"Now you just sound desperate. And possibly like you're writing a LinkedIn message."

"Now who’s making it more difficult than it has to be?"

"I’m just saying, judging by the way he was looking at you yesterday, I think you’re overthinking it, babe. At the end of the day, you could send him ‘hi’ and I guarantee you he’d still reply back just as excited if you sent him a nude."

"The way he was looking at me?"

"Oh, please." She rolls her eyes. "That man’s eyes were practically inside your colon."

My mouth falls open with a laugh, that familiar heat rising up my neck to my cheeks. "To be fair, it was that damn outfit I wore. Didn’t realize I’d gained a little weight since I bought it and clearly it went to the right place."

"Well, trust me, that man liked what he was seeing. And not to make it too weird, but he gets a very similar look on his face like Hector does right before he wriggles his eyebrows at me and says,'Quiero devorarte.'"

"What’s that mean?"

"Basically, it translates to 'I want to devour you,'" she says with a devious grin on her face.

I shouldn’t have asked.

Finally, I type out what I hope is a casual, professional message. "Okay, how about: Hey, would love to get your opinion on a legal matter. Coffee sometime this week?” I type out the words in a rush as I say them, trying to get them out before I can second guess it…again.

"Send it," Becca encourages, finally putting down her magazine to watch the drama unfold.

My finger hovers over the button. "Maybe I should?—"

But my thumb slips, hitting send before I can read what I actually wrote:Hey, would love to get your onion on a legal mattress. Coffee sometime this week?

"Oh my God," I whisper in horror, staring at my phone like it's personally betrayed me.

"What? What happened?" Becca leans over to look at my screen. Her eyes widen. "Oh… oh no."

I quickly type.

Me:

*opinion *matter. Sorry, autocorrect! I'd like to discuss a professional, legal matter.

"Well," Becca says after a moment of silence, clearly fighting back laughter, "at least you can't say it wasn't memorable."

I bury my face in a throw pillow, wondering if it's possible to die from embarrassment. "This is why I should have stayed home with my legal briefs. Legal briefs don't have autocorrect. Legal briefs don't betray you with suggestive produce typos."

"No," Becca agrees, patting my shoulder sympathetically. "But they also don't have those brown eyes that can’t seem to get enough of you."

I peek out from the pillow just as my phone buzzes with a response from Miguel. We both freeze, staring at it like it might explode.

"You read it," I tell Becca. "I can't look. If it's a restraining order, I don't want to know."

She picks up my phone, and a slow smile spreads across her face. "Well," she says, drawing out the moment because she's evil, "apparently he'd love to give you his onion on a legal mattress. Coffee this Saturday at eight?"

"Wait, really?" I jump up and grab the phone from her, a smile spreading across my face when I read his response for myself.

Miguel

I’m happy to discuss a professional, legal matter with you. Can I give you my onion on a mattress this Saturday around 8?

Maybe it's the lingering effects of the pickleball to the face, or maybe it's just time, but suddenly I'm laughing—really laughing—for the first time in months. The kind of laugh that makes your sides hurt and your mascara run and your soul feel a little lighter.