Page 9 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Lumberjack
Probably not.
I fell for him somewhere around week eleven, when he texted me during what I later figured out was a particularly bad night for him.
Wrong Number Guy:
Do you think people get more than one?
Me:
More than one what?
Wrong Number Guy:
Person. The person.
Me:
I think people get as many chances at love as they're brave enough to take.
Wrong Number Guy:
That sounds like something on a poster in your classroom.
Me:
It IS on a poster in my classroom.
Doesn't make it wrong.
Wrong Number Guy:
No. It doesn't.
I stare at my phone now. The Brad conversation sitting on the screen in neat little text bubbles, this stranger's steady, measured words woven between my frantic all caps paragraphs.
Me:
Can I ask you something personal
Wrong Number Guy:
You've been asking me personal things for three months.
Me:
Fair.
Have you? Since the person you lost? Have you been with anyone?
Wrong Number Guy:
No.
Me:
Why?
Wrong Number Guy:
