The Wrong Number

Emma never answered calls from unknown numbers, but something about the one flashing on her screen made her hesitate. On impulse, she picked up.

“Hello?”

A deep voice chuckled. “Well, you don’t sound like Jake.”

Emma frowned. “That’s because I’m not Jake.”

“Oh.” A pause. “I think I dialed the wrong number.”

“No kidding.”

“I’m sorry. I was trying to call my friend, but I must’ve mixed up a digit.”

Emma considered hanging up, but there was something warm about his voice, something that made her linger.

“Well,” she said, “I hope Jake forgives you for your betrayal.”

He laughed. “I sure hope so. But while I have you here, can I ask—what’s your name?”

She hesitated. “Emma.”

“Nice to meet you, Emma. I’m Daniel.”

“Nice to meet you too, Daniel. Even if you didn’t mean to call me.”

She expected the conversation to end there, but instead, they kept talking. About nothing, about everything. He told her about his dog that ate his socks, she told him about her disastrous attempt at baking.

By the time they hung up, Emma realized she was smiling.

The next day, her phone buzzed.

Daniel: Okay, so maybe I meant to call the wrong number today.

Emma bit her lip, typing back.

Emma: Sounds like you just admitted to a crime.

Daniel: Guess you caught me. But in my defense, I kind of liked talking to you.

Emma: You do know we could just meet, right? That’s allowed.

Daniel: Bold move. What if I’m an old man with a suspicious mustache?

Emma: Then I’d be very impressed with your texting skills.

A pause. Then—

Daniel: Coffee? Saturday? 2 PM?

Emma hesitated for only a second before replying.

Emma: See you there, Wrong Number.