The Man Who Sent the Wrong Text

Nora was three glasses of wine into a Friday night alone when her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

I know it's late, but I can't stop thinking about tonight. You looked incredible in that blue dress. I should've kissed you when I had the chance.

She stared at it for a long moment, heart doing something ridiculous and unearned, before typing back the only reasonable response: I think you have the wrong number. But whoever she is, I hope you get a second chance.

Three dots appeared immediately. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Oh no. I am SO sorry. That was supposed to go to my sister long story, family group chat gone wrong. Please ignore the world's most embarrassing autocorrect disaster.

Nora laughed out loud in her empty apartment, wine glass forgotten on the counter.

Family group chat where you compliment your sister's dress and almost kissed her? I have so many questions.

In my defense, it's a LONG story involving a wedding, a mix-up with two women in blue dresses, and me being an idiot. I promise it's less concerning than it sounds.

It sounds extremely concerning.

Okay, fair. Can I redeem myself by admitting this is the most interesting conversation I've had all week, wrong number and all?

Nora looked at her wine, her empty apartment, the Friday night she'd spent avoiding her friends' group chat because she didn't have the energy to explain, again, why she was still single at thirty-two.

Depends, she typed. Are you always this charming with strangers, or is this a special occasion?

Strictly special occasion. I don't usually text-flirt with people who could report me for harassment. You're just annoyingly easy to talk to.

Nora smiled at her phone like an idiot, alone in her kitchen, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.

I'm Nora, by the way. Since we're apparently doing this.

Sam. And for what it's worth, Nora whatever you were wearing tonight, I bet it looked better than the blue dress that started this whole mess.

She was still smiling when she typed back.

I was wearing pajamas and existential dread. High bar to clear.

Somehow, I believe you'd clear it anyway.

Nora set her phone down, picked it back up, then set it down again heart racing over a wrong number and a stranger named Sam who'd already made her Friday night feel less lonely than it had in months.

to be continued... 📱💙