Dear Rosie, (Love Letters #2)

The TV was playing some reruns in the background while I worked, but I’m pretty sure my phone vibrated with several texts.

Hands clean, I turn off the water and grab a hand towel.

I have a feeling it’s Nathan texting.

Not that the pool of candidates is large, but I’ve messaged with Nathan every day this week.

It’s been… unexpected. But at the same time, so Nathan.

I brush back the strands of hair that have escaped my ponytail and pick up my phone.

My pulse jumps at his first text, asking if I’m home, thinking that he might be on his way over.

Then I keep reading, and my heartbeat changes for a different reason.

He’s worried.

Me: I’m home.

Me: Was elbow deep in raw chicken.

I read his last text twice.

Me: And what do you mean track my phone?

He can’t really do that, right?

Nathan: Good.

Me: Nathan, can you track my phone? Is that what Catch Tech does?

Nathan: I’m going through a tunnel. You’re breaking up.

I snort.

Me: You’re absurd.

Nathan: Losing signal. I’ll text you later.

SEVENTY-FOUR

NATE

I send the text, then lower my forehead until it’s resting on my desk.

My heart has been racing for the past forty minutes, waiting for Rosie to reply.

I’m not this person.

I’ve never felt so irrationally worried in my life.

I inhale slowly.

I was in the breakroom filling my coffee when one of my employees mentioned a big accident on the highway.

They didn’t know anyone in the accident. They hadn’t even heard anything about anyone being hurt. They were just sharing the news.

But that didn’t matter.