"Hi," her voice chirped through the speaker of my phone. "It's me—Emma, the girl from—" She laughed, "the girl you left your number for. Sorry by the way if Peter gave you a hard time..." I could hear her inhale deeply. "Anyways, this is me calling... obviously. But um you have my number now, so call me? If this wasn't too painful to listen to, that is."

She laughed again and hung up.

I nearly had the whole thing memorized by the third time I'd listened to it, but I was still sure to save her number in my phone and add her voicemail to my "saved messages" folder.

By the time I'd seen she'd called it was nearly eleven o'clock at night, too late to call back. So I listened to her message again before heading to bed, where I laid sleeplessly for half the night trying to figure out what to say when I called her back.

I considered calling her when I woke up, thinking it'd be best to call her earlier so as not to disrupt her workday, but then I realized that I didn't actually know when her workday began or when she even woke for the day.

It would be better, I conceded, to call her after work or during the lunch hour, but that would likely be too short notice to her on a date for that evening. I sat at my desk, spreadsheets I was meant to be reviewing pushed to the side, and stared down at the small secretary clock ticking away.

When the hour hand hovered between nine and ten and the minute hand finally hit six, I lunged for my phone. I wasn't quite sure if the humming I heard was the phone ringing or the pounding of my pulse in my ears until I heard her voice.

"Emma Henderson."

I blinked, momentarily forgetting the speech I had rehearsed in my head.

"Hello?"

"Hi!" I nearly shouted. I cleared my throat and tried again, "It's Tom."

"Oh, h-hi. You got my message, I take it."

"And you got mine," I grinned.

"You wouldn't happen to have just heard my number and ignored the rambling bit, would you?"

I laughed. "I thought it was cute."

She groaned on the other end of the line. "I'm terrible at talking over the phone."

I picked up a discarded pen and began to twirl it between my fingers. "We could speak in person," I attempted to suggest casually.

She laughed. "I'm at work."

"Do you get to read for your job?" I wondered, not meaning to have said it out loud.

She laughed again. "Yes."

"Has that ruined reading for pleasure for you?"

She hesitated before answering. "Sometimes."

I closed my eyes, attempting to refocus. "What about this evening?"

"What about this evening?"

"Well I thought we could meet—this evening... in person," I stumbled.

I dropped the pen, silently cursing myself.

I'd decided what I should say last night before finally falling asleep, then changed my mind while I brushed my teeth this morning, then spent the remainder of the morning rehearsing what I would say—all of which I completely forgot the second I heard her voice. "There's a charity function I'm supposed to go to tonight, and I was wondering if maybe you'd join me?"

"Well that's not really fair, is it?"

I blinked. "Sorry?"

"You asking a girl out to a charity function. Let me guess, it has something to do with kids, right?"

"The organization supports children with disabilities living in the foster system—"

"Well shit, Tom! How am I supposed to say no to that without sounding like a total arse?"

Her tone was humorous, yet I still felt a deepening pit in my stomach. "Do you want to say no?"

She laughed. "Not particularly."

A smile tugged on my lips. "There won't be much in the way of food there—"

"Is this your way of telling me to eat something first so I don't get tossed again?"

I laughed. "I didn't think you were tossed—"

"I bumped into the wall—"

"It was those damn shoes, I'm telling you!" She laughed, the sound releasing the tension in my muscles. "And this isn't me telling you not to get tossed, this is me trying to ask you to dinner afterward."

"Oh."

"Which you can turn down without sounding like an arse who hates children."

She laughed again. "Dinner sounds lovely, Tom."

I leaned back happily into the high back of my chair. "You're in a good mood today."

"I just finished a good book." Her words were light, almost song-like. I imagined her nestling comfortably in her own seat, a chair or couch maybe.

"Tell me about it?"

She sighed dramatically. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait and read my review."

I smiled wider still. "Deal."