* * * *
Two weeks later, he got a call from an unknown number. “Hollis speaking.”
“Hi.”
He waited for something more, and when it didn’t come, he said, “Hiii,” stretching it into a two-syllable word.
“It’s Ryan. Ryan Wilde. Ken’s cousin? We met for lunch. And then Chinese. Not that we met for—”
He almost laughed at the nervous chatter but interrupted instead, to save them both. “I remember. I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind about dinner.”
“No! No, I just, um, I was, that is…” Ryan trailed off, but Hollis waited for him to finish his sentence.
And waited.
And waited.
“Ryan?”
“Yes?” he squeaked.
God, he hoped Ryan didn’t have to make phone calls at his job. “What’s up?”
“I was wondering if you still want to take me up on the offer of dinner?”
“Sure, when were you thinking?”
“Oh, um, whenever.” A deep breath. “Are you free tomorrow?”
“Sure. There’s a bar I usually hang out at on Friday nights, if you’re interested.”