In her purse, her phone buzzed.
She dug it free without losing sight of the last moments of the sun. “Mary Kildare.”
“Most people just say hello.”
Mary let her eyes close and fought the smile that attempted to cross her lips.
“Most people don’t start a conversation with an insult.”
Glen, with a husky sound she’d become a little too fond of, chuckled.
“Hello, Mary.”
She followed his lead. “Hello, Glen.”
There was a slight delay in the line, which made their conversation stutter. “Where are you?” she asked.
“Somewhere over Texas.”
So he was on a plane. She assumed as much. Instead of asking why he was calling, she waited for him to speak.
He hesitated . . . or maybe it was the delay. “Do you have plans this Saturday?”
She gripped the phone a little too tight. “Why are you asking?”
“We both know why I’m asking.”
Mary paused and held her breath. “I don’t have any plans.”
“Great. I’ll pick you up at four.”
The sun was already gone. “I don’t believe I said yes.”
He laughed. “I don’t believe you said no.”
Any other man, any other time, she’d tell him to ask . . . make him work a little harder to secure a date. “Fly safe.”
“See you Saturday.”
He was about to hang up.
“Wait . . . what should I wear?”
“I’d like to say those tiny shorts you wear to bed, but I think a simple dress will do.”
Mary covered her face in her hand. Her boy shorts . . . he’d seen her butt hanging out of her pajamas.
He hung up laughing. No good-bye, not a see you later . . . simply disconnected the call.
And Mary smiled.