Written with Regret (The Regret Duet #1)(60)

Me: Yeah. My parents didn’t let us watch TV when I was growing up, but every now and then, my dad would sneak us down to the library when they were showing The Three Stooges on the big projector.

Caven: No TV at all?

Me: Nah. They were old school. If it plugged into the wall, we weren’t allowed to have it. We had books and art. That’s about it.

Caven: How’d you get into photography then?



Holy shit. We were having a conversation. Complete with questions and everything. My fingers couldn’t fly across that keyboard fast enough.



Me: Well, young whippersnapper, back in the Dark Ages, there was this thing called film. It didn’t operate on a fancy-schmancy screen or require any technology, so Mama Banks couldn’t say no.

Caven: Smartass.

Me: My mom was into photography long before I was. She was the most talented photographer I’d ever seen. Unfortunately, she died while I was still taking pictures on a disposable, so she didn’t teach me much more than the basics, but I figured it out in the end, I guess.



His reply was much slower that time, and I watched the text bubble dancing on the screen for well over a minute.



Caven: Shit, Hadley. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up your parents.

Me: You didn’t bring them up. I did. And it’s okay. I like talking about them. The memories fade slower that way.

Caven: I still feel like an ass given the circumstances.

Me: Yeah, well. You shouldn’t. If anyone should feel like an ass, it’s me. I dry-heaved into your toilet today without even lifting the seat. So rude.

Caven: Jesus, you were dry-heaving?



Okay. So that hadn’t gone as planned. I’d thought I could distract him from feeling guilty for bringing up my parents only to make him feel guilty about me dry-heaving in his bathroom.



Me: What? Who said anything about dry-heaving? Did Rosie calm down after I left?

Caven: Nice change of subject. And no. She was a wild woman all night. The only time she settled down was to tell me about Jacob being a love expert.

Me: Awwww. That’s so cute.

Caven: Jacob is not cute. But I appreciate you giving her the cooties shot. I’m trying to keep my medical expenses down this year. I’ll need the bail money for when I go toe-to-toe with Jacob’s father.

Me: Did she happen to mention that Jacob’s dad is a former professional heavyweight boxer turned stuntman?

Caven: Oh please. I could take him. Wait…are you serious?

Me: Maybe. I can’t remember exactly what she said. It was either former professional heavyweight boxer turned stuntman or proctologist. Definitely one of the two.

Caven: Rosalee knew the word proctologist?

Me: No. I was just trying to save you from the horror of hearing, “Jacob’s dad is a doctor who looks at the inside of people’s butts.”

Caven: How big of a box would I need to mail a four-year-old boy to China?



I laughed, my smile so wide that it was almost painful. God, this felt good. Easy and comfortable, the way I’d always secretly hoped it could be between me and Caven. I sucked in a deep breath, holding it as if I could inhale this moment and engrain it into my subconscious to revisit in the future when things inevitably got hard again.



Me: I don’t have much experience in that department. But I have faith you could take the butt doctor toe-to-toe. So maybe a talk with his parents would be the safer choice.

Caven: Good point.

Me: Hey, did Rosalee finish the paper flowers I left for her?

Caven: Sorta. She colored an entire roll of toilet paper then tried to hide it by flushing it down the toilet along with two markers. The plumber just left.

Me: She did not.

Caven: Oh yes she did. But I was kidding about the plumber. I was able to fish everything out with a wire coat hanger from the dry cleaner. Not my finest hour, but it didn’t cost me six hundred dollars either, so I’ll chalk it up as a victory.

Me: Wow.

Caven: Yeah. So that was my night. How was the rest of yours?



I blinked at the phone.

Okay… So, now, we were just two people chitty-chatting via text at nine p.m. like this was any given Wednesday night and not the first time in…ever.

I inhaled through my nose. Okay. I could do this. Not a problem.



Me: It was good.



Yes. That was the smart and intriguing response that would surely incite hours of conversation, break down the barriers between us, and kick off a whole new future.

He’d reached out to me and I’d given him the riveting answer, It was good.

Outstanding!

I leaned my head back against the headboard and cursed my near-superhero abilities to notice what side a man tucks when he dresses, but not reply to a text message with more than three words. It was as if my brain had no idea there was a damn delete button.



Caven: Good. I’m glad you’re feeling better. Listen, Rosalee has this end of the year awards ceremony at her preschool on Friday. I promised her I’d invite you. Don’t feel obligated to come or anything.



I sat straight up in bed, nearly dropping my phone.



Me: I’ll be there!!!



My brain screamed a reminder to write more than three damn words.