…
Andrew:How was your Christmas?
Lauren: Uneventful. Nice. Yours?
Andrew: Jeni and I drove to Nebraska to stay for a few days. It’s exhausting. But I would have regretted not coming. Alva’s been asking about you.
Lauren: She has? I didn’t think she liked me.
Andrew: She’s just protective of her super awesome Uncle Andy.
Lauren: She’d be effective in law enforcement.
Andrew: Or as a dancer.
Lauren: OMG, what?
Andrew: What?
Lauren:It’s like you just suggested your niece become a stripper.
Andrew:WHAT
Andrew: NO
Andrew: I meant like a ballerina
Andrew: MAYBE a backup dancer, if the group was cool. Like JT or TSwift.
Lauren: *facepalm*
Andrew: That’s it. I’m calling you.
Lauren did a double take at the screen. He was going to what?
Then his name flashed across the screen as an incoming call. She stared. They’d never spoken on the phone before. She didn’t know why but she searched the room, hoping to find some magic answer on the walls. She was sitting on the bed in her old room—the décor exactly the same as she’d left it when she graduated. The members of the Black Eyed Peas stared at her from a poster tacked to the wall. Fergie offered no help.
She blinked and accepted the call.
“Hi Andy.”
“Only Alva calls me that.”
“Okay, Mr. Bishop.”
“Much better.”
“Why are you calling me?”
“It’s clear my texts were being misconstrued. I thought it might be easier this way.”
“I see.”
He paused. “I wanted to hear your voice.”
She swallowed. “I see.”
“Are you still in Oklahoma?”