Free Meeting Miss Mystic by Katy Regnery

moment—that Holly was anything but what she’d represented herself to be, her name included. Flannigan was a perfectly nice name, but for a moment Paul felt gypped out of something. Who was Holly Flannigan? He was falling for Holly Morgan, not Holly Flannigan.
    Then he shrugged, shaking his head. Stupid. She had every right to conceal her identity from internet creeps; not to mention, it didn’t matter what her last name was. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Holly was still Holly.
    “Miss Flannigan.”
    “The very one.”
    “It is really, really nice to meet you.”
    “I bet you say that to all the girls you pick up online.”
    This time, he was the one who chuckled softly, pulling Cleo on his lap and settling back into the swing, Holly’s playful sweetness overtaking him as their conversation hit a steady rhythm.
    ***
    Zoë got up and padded to the kitchen, the phone still attached to her aching, tender ear after two solid hours of talking to Paul. The clock on her microwave read 12:05 a.m. She opened the fridge and took out a bottle of white wine, pouring herself a small glass.
    “It’s after midnight here,” she said. “I’m having a glass of wine.”
    “You pour yourself a glass. I’ve drunk a whole pitcher of tea in the past two hours, so I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”
    “Yeah, of course,” she said smiling. She felt her cheeks flush as her thoughts swiftly moved…there. He was going to the bathroom. He was going to open his pants and pull out his—
    Zoë swallowed a big gulp of wine, wishing she could divert her thoughts. Instead her mind insisted on its present course, subtly changing the dynamics of the fantasy to include her sitting on the edge of his bed as he unbuttoned, then unzipped his pants, pulling them down and off his bare feet until he was just wearing boxers in front of her. She’d lean forward and hook her thumbs into the waistband of the shorts, pulling them down slowly so she could—
    “Holly?”
    “Huh? Yes! I—I mean, yeah, um, I’m here.”
    “You okay?”
    “Mm-hm.”
    “Tired?”
    Turned on.
    “A little,” she sighed, placing her half-finished wine glass on the coffee table and lying back on her couch, switching ears. “I lit candles in my living room an hour ago so the light’s soft and warm in here…and I don’t have air conditioning, but I opened the windows and there’s a breeze tonight. The air’s still misty from the rain earlier and it makes the smell of the sea even stronger. You know that brackish, tangy, salt water smell?”
    “Mmm,” he murmured. “I know it well.”
    “It’s heavy tonight. Thick,” she whispered.
    “Holly.” He said her name softly.
    “Mmm?”
    “I like you a lot.”
    “I like you too,” she whispered, without missing a beat.
    “When can you talk again?”
    She groaned inside. She knew it was time to hang up. They’d been talking for hours and he thought she was tired. But she wished they didn’t have to say good-bye.
    “Later in the week?” she asked, cringing, hating herself for making him wait, but not wanting to seem desperate.
    He didn’t say anything but she could hear him breathing and she was pretty sure he didn’t like her answer. She almost retracted her words—telling him to call her tomorrow morning, tomorrow afternoon, tomorrow night, whenever he wanted to! —when he responded.
    “Tuesday?”
    She smiled. “I promise I’ll pick up next time.”
    “Tuesday at 10 your time?”
    “It’s a date,” she said softly. “Night, Principal Paul.”
    “Sleep tight, Holly Flannigan.”
    She drew the phone away from her ear and pressed the red end button quickly, before she was tempted to try to revive their conversation again. She sighed, staring at the dancing light of the candles on her ceiling.
    It shouldn’t be possible to feel like this after a week.
    It shouldn’t be possible to feel like this about someone you’ve never met in person.
    It shouldn’t be possible to feel