On the third day before Vegas, the city ran itself ragged and Theo let it. He finished work early, closed his laptop, and spent the afternoon cleaning the apartment—nervous, pointless motions that never translated to anything visible. Around dusk, he sat on the balcony with a mug of tea gone cold and watched as the sunlight drained from the world, orange bruising into purple over the smog line.

  His phone vibrated. He checked the time—7:11, exactly when she said she’d call.

  He answered on the second ring, bracing for the voice that had, over the last months, become the most intimate thing he knew.

  “Hey,” he said, the word softer than he intended.

  “Hey yourself,” Kristy replied. There was a hush on the other end, the faint white noise of an expensive air conditioner, but her voice sounded brighter than usual. “I just realized we haven’t done a real phone call since the coffee date.”

  “Guess we’re old-fashioned now.”

  “I almost forgot your number.”

  He laughed, sinking further into the patio chair. “So, what’s up?”

  A pause. He could almost hear her smiling. “Three days,” she said. “We’re really doing this.”

  He glanced at the grid of windows across the courtyard, most of them dark, and wondered if anyone in those apartments was feeling half as alive as he did in that moment. “Yeah,” he said. “Three days.”

  Kristy exhaled, a tiny sound. “You know, when I bought the flight, I kind of expected something would go wrong. Like, I’d get COVID, or the airport would flood, or I’d have an existential meltdown and cancel.”

  “There’s still time,” he teased.

  “Don’t jinx it,” she shot back, but there was no sharpness in it. “I need this. More than I thought.”

  He wanted to ask why, but he already knew. Instead, he let the silence settle, the kind of silence that’s actually a conversation.

  She broke it first. “I’m nervous.”

  “Me too. But in a good way.” He hesitated, then added, “It’s weird, I know, but it kind of feels like we’ve already met.”

  “We did. In the mall.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  He smiled. “You, uh, stole my hoodie, remember?”

  “After you spilled coffee on mine and that was foreplay,” she said, her voice dropping into a confidential whisper. “I have a whole arsenal of clothing-related thefts planned for Vegas.”

  He felt the smile widen on his face. “Can’t wait.”

  They talked about the plan—flight times, hotel check-in, whether the city would still be standing after Mia Amor’s final show. Kristy asked about his friends: Would Marcus really wear a suit? Would Elena try to psychoanalyze her? He confirmed yes to both, and promised to protect her from any excessive inquisition.

  At one point, she went quiet. He heard a shift in the background, like she was changing positions on the bed.

  “Can I ask you something?” she said, and this time her voice was stripped of all irony.

  “Anything.”

  “Why me?”

  The question hit harder than he expected. He thought about all the possible answers, none of which felt big enough or small enough to be true.

  “I guess…” He let the words line up in his head, then picked the simplest. “You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like I didn’t have to try so hard. With you, it’s just…easy.”

  A soft laugh, almost a sigh. “I haven’t been easy for a single person in my entire life.”

  “You are to me.”

  She didn’t reply right away. He thought he might have said too much, but then she whispered, “Okay,” and the way she said it made him feel like maybe he’d won the lottery and lost his mind in the same breath.

  After that, the conversation wandered. She asked about his worst childhood haircut. He described, in excruciating detail, the bowl cut that made him look like a failed Michael Jordan impersonator, infamously called it the ‘bald fade’. She countered with the year her mother straightened her hair with a clothes iron, nearly searing off both ears. They traded scars, each one a badge of survival.

  Eventually, the topic circled back to Vegas. “We should pick a place to meet,” Kristy said. “Just in case I have to dodge weirdos or you have to rescue me from your friends.”

  “I thought we were meeting after the show? Hotel bar, right?”

  “Right,” she said. “But if you don’t see me there by 11:30, I want you to check the elevator. I have a history of getting stuck in elevators at the worst possible time.”

  He heard the tension under the joke, the nervousness that never quite left her voice. “I’ll check every elevator in Vegas,” he promised.

  “Don’t,” she said. “You’ll get mugged by magicians.”

  “Worth it.”

  She laughed, but then grew quiet again. “I keep worrying I’ll mess this up,” she said.

  “Then we can mess it up together,” he offered. “That’s the deal.”

  “Deal,” she echoed, and the way she said it sounded like a promise she actually intended to keep.

  As the call drifted, the city outside faded to black, the hum of distant traffic merging with the static on the line. He could picture her, sprawled out on a hotel bed, curls fanned over the pillow, eyes closed but not asleep. He wondered if she was picturing him too.

  When they finally said goodnight, neither wanted to be the first to hang up. It became a game—one more story, one more joke, one more accidental confession. Eventually, Kristy won by falling asleep mid-sentence.

  He set the phone down, sat in the darkness, and replayed the last hour in his head.

  He didn’t know if he was ready for the weekend. He didn’t know if anyone could be. But for the first time in his life, he was actually excited to find out.

  He went back inside, left the windows open to the night, and waited for the clock to bring him one day closer.