Page 58 of Snatched

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“He’s 100% thinking about it right now.”

I bite my lip. “I’m thinking about it too.”

“I know.”

I hang up, walking up the stairs to my apartment, still floating, still breathless.

Inside, I lean against the door after it shuts.

My pulse finally slows, and my breathing evens.

The night settles around me like warm water.

I whisper into the quiet:

“Tuesday.”

Saturday morning arrives far too bright for how little I slept.

Not because of nightmares.

Because ofhim.

The almost-kiss replayed all night in a loop so vivid I swear I can still feel his hand on my waist every time I inhale.

I finally roll out of bed around ten, hair a mess, mental state a messier mess, and make coffee.

My phone buzzes just as the machine sputters to life.

Colt: Morning. Hope you slept better than I did.

I stare, trying not to read into it.

I fail.

Elena: Morning. I slept fine. Mostly. How’s Mom?

Colt: “Mostly” feels accurate.

I grip my mug tighter.

Every text is like a little pull on a thread I’m pretending doesn’t exist.

We exchange only a few messages the rest of the day. Light. Harmless.

Elena: How’s Momma?

Colt: She’s doing better. Thanks for asking.

Elena: I’m glad. Tell her I hope she feels better soon.

He replies with a heart emoji.

Not a red one.

A blue one, which feels Innocent and friendly.

But my stomach still flips like I’m sixteen.

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