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When they left, Gertrude went back to her phone. She wasn’t going to overthink it; it would be smooth, natural, and entirely Gertrude.
Heyyyy, it’s Gertrude, the girl from the bookstore? I just wanted to say thank you for the flowers. And the cake. And lunch. It was very sweet.
Pause.
What now?
This was why she'd only slept with two people. Why she didn’t date. This whole dance; trying to seem available without being too desperate, trying to be mysterious and exciting without being a cold bitch. You know what? Maybe she was a cold bitch, maybe people should just deal with that.
She deleted everything.
Start over.
Simple.
Brief.
Gertrude.
Thanks for the flowers. I’m not too into all the gushy stuff. Would you like to go on a date?
She read it three times, decided she sounded like a lawyer, almost deleted it, reread it, changed her mind and liked her firm, adult tone. She sounded in charge.
Interested, but reserved.
Like Olivia.
She hit send and immediately turned her phone upside down next to the pens and tape she kept on the little counter under the register.
She was three aisles away, yet still heard it vibrate.
Somehow, she knew it was him. Just by the veracity of the noise, the suddenness of the reply.
They had begun.
