"Hey!" she said, surprised.
"Hey there," he said.
"How's everything in LA?" she asked.
"The usual. Everything as ditzy as ever," he replied. "And Iowa?"
"Hm. Well. It's as plain as ever."
"I bet it's beautiful this time of year. Green and hazel and gold?" he asked.
"Yes, it's – what? Gold?" she asked, confused.
"Yeah. You know – the trees? Christmas?"
"Oh," she said, and she was slightly mortified to hear a note of disappointment in her own voice. "Right. Christmas here is very pretty."
"Hmm, pretty, pretty," he hummed. "You miss anything from LA?"
"Anything?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"Lots of things. I miss the apartment I rented out during the show. And I miss Bossa Nova – their food was so good! I miss the cast, especially Sabrina and Mel. And, uh, I miss Romey …"
"He misses you, too," he said suddenly.
"Does he?" she asked, and he could hear a smile in her voice.
"Yes," he said. "He's … pining away without you."
"Really now?"
"Of course. He says it's just not the same when you're not around. He's never had someone like you in his life before."
"Oh?" she asked.
"Sure. He's been in and about but he's always thinking of you. He can't seem to sleep without wanting to see you somehow, so he replays dances over and over. More often than not, he falls asleep on the bed dreaming of you."
"Gosh. That's a lot … for a dog to feel."
"He's a strange one," he said, and this time she could hear the smile in his voice.
"He is," she agreed, then she added, needing to know: "And … why does he do these things? I mean, I was in his life for just a few weeks, you know."
"True," he said. "But those weeks were … the best weeks in his life, like nothing he had ever experienced before. To be honest, I think … I think he's fallen in love with you, except he's too damned afraid to admit it."
Silence.
"Hey. Are you … still there?" he asked, uncertain.
"Yes," she said, after a moment. "Is … uh, Romey with you? Right now?"
"Yes," he said slowly. "Please don't get mad at him. I don't think he can take it if you are."
"No, no," she said. "I'm not mad."
"O-kay," he said.
"But can you get a message to him from me?" she asked.
"O-kay," he said again, attempting – and failing – to sound nonchalant.
He heard her breathe out, once.
"Okay. Tell him that I understand."
Silence.
"And …" she hesitated, then said in a rush: "… tell him that I love him, too, and that I miss him more than I can say, that nothing around me makes me as happy as he does. Tell him, also, that if he doesn't get on a plane and bring his sorry ass here, right now, I will never, ever, speak to him again, and this talk of love and being afraid and all will have to stop."
More silence.
Finally, she whispered: "Hey. Are you … there?"
But all she heard in reply was a distant woof, running feet, and the faint sound of a door closing.
THE END
