Page 42 of Reptile Dysfunction
Not three steps out of the bathroom, I hear my cell phone begin to ring. My eyes widen as I see it isn’t yet another dire emergency, but Charlotte.
“Hello?” I ask.
“Hey, Mason! It’s me, Charlotte. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. Seeing the mayor suddenly run off like that kind of sets off alarm bells, you know?”
I consider my next words carefully. She could be genuinely checking in on me, or snooping for a scoop.
“Everything’s okay. The issue will be resolved before morning. And I apologize for leaving like that. An inability to enjoy yourself comes with the job,” I say.
“Well, I’m relieved to hear you’re alright.”
She doesn’t pry into the matter further, and I take that as a good sign. In fact, I want to confess my feelings to her right here and now! It takes every ounce of self-control I have left not to do just that. Hearing her voice makes those feelings bubble up inside of me once again.
“I hope I didn’t miss anything exciting after I left,” I say, hoping to keep our conversation going.
“Oh! Oh, no. Well, Mr. Murphy loaded up on crabapple wine and embarrassed his wife on the dance floor. That little man has moves!” Charlotte laughs, her voice catching and ending with a sigh. “Well, I was just making sure you were alright. Hopefully, I’ll see you again tomorrow. Good night, Mason.”
“Good night, Charlotte,” I reply. I hope someday we can end every evening with that heartfelt exchange. I’ll swallow my emotions, at least for a little while. I have to wait for her to make the first move, to prove she’s ready for something more between us.
I put on my pajama pants and turn on the radio. The current song is ending, and the DJ comes on and welcomes me with a sultry and knowing tone.
“I sense someone who feels a sense of longing has just tuned in. Welcome, I predict this next song will speak to your strained heart. Here’s ‘Bewitched by the Wicked Sorceress’ sung hauntingly by the one and only all-star manticore himself, Leo Lightwing.”
I sit at my desk and let the music distract me. Opening my laptop, I find my spreadsheet with local vendors and start making notes for the new underground water system project.
If I’m going to be brimming with such unbridled passion, I ought to put it to good use for the town of Curiosity. Like I always have.
25
CHARLOTTE
I sit with my phone in my hand, thumb hovering over the call button on the name I still have stored in my phone as Mayor Wendall.
I have to smile to myself. The butterflies in my stomach are going crazy right about now. In fact, they’ve been doing that pretty much all day. I guess that’s what happens when you wake up with the sudden unshakable knowledge that you’ve fallen for someone.
After everything that’s happened, I’m a little nervous that my invitation to go on a real date might not be well-received. But based on the spark that’s been growing between Mason and me over the last few weeks, I know I also have to take that chance.
“Hi, Mason,” I practice, like a nervous teenager. “I had a really wonderful night with you at the veterans ceremony. And I’d really like to keep spending time with you in a personal capacity.”
I figure slipping a little humor in there might make the whole thing less nerve-wracking.
“Would you like to go out on a real date?” I finish, my heart racing even as I speak only to myself.
I smile, already imagining Mason’s reply. Or at least what I hope to be his reply. I still can’t believe that after everything I did to him, he wants to spend time with me and might even be romantically interested in me. But I guess it’s because he always sees the best in people. Unlike me, he gives people the benefit of the doubt.
I think back over the past few weeks – each of us letting down our walls and actually seeing each other. It’s scary, but I think it’s worth it. With this thought helping to push the nerves aside, I finally press the call button.
“Please pick up, please pick up,” I whisper to myself as I listen to the dial tone.
It rings a dozen times or so before redirecting to Mason’s voicemail. Somehow asking him out over voicemail doesn’t feel quite right, and I hang up rather than leaving a message. I’ll just have to wait until he calls back.
I put my phone down on the kitchen table, but the moment I do, it chimes. Part of me hopes it’s Mason getting back to me already, and my heart skips a beat at the thought. I pick up the phone, eager to read his words, but the message I find there is something else entirely.
Information about Mayor Wendall.
The email subject is enough to cause a stone of dread to materialize in my stomach. No good news is ever announced that way, and when I look at the sender, the stone grows even bigger. It’s clearly a throwaway email address, attributed to someone calling themselves ‘A. Helper.’
“Very funny,” I mutter, opening the email.