Chapter 304
**Sara**
"Oh god." I scrolled through our chat history, panic rising. "Did someone steal his phone?"
My mind raced through worst-case scenarios. Mugging. Phone theft. Identity theft. Australian dingos with a taste for expensive smartphones. Maybe he'd dropped it in Sydney Harbor, and some tech-savvy octopus was now pretending to be him.
Or worse—what if he'd gotten amnesia from a surfing accident and forgotten everything about me? The thought of aliens abducting him flitted across my mind, adding another layer of absurdity to my spiraling panic.
The scenarios got more ridiculous by the second, but I couldn't help it. When you're halfway around the world from someone, even the most absurd possibilities start to feel plausible.
Me: Tom, if this isn't you, blink twice. Or whatever the text equivalent is.
Me: Seriously, are you okay?
Me: Should I call the Australian embassy? Is this a hostage situation?
Me: Tom, seriously, this isn't funny anymore.
My heart racing, I hit the video call button. The screen showed "Calling..." for what felt like an eternity before a red "Call Rejected" flashed across my display.
"Oh, you did not just-" I glared at my phone.
Me: Did you seriously just reject my video call?
Tom: Maybe.
Me: Prove it's you. Send a photo right now.
Tom: So demanding
Me: NOW. Or I'm calling the cops. And your brother. And probably the FBI.
A photo popped up in our chat. Tom's face filled the screen, his eyes crossed and tongue sticking out, holding up a peace sign next to his ridiculous bedhead. Before I could screenshot it, the image disappeared.
Me: YOU DELETED IT
Tom: Did I?
Me: That's cheating! Send it again!
Tom: No can do that. That masterpiece was a one-time performance.
Me: I hate you right now.
Tom: No, you don't.
Me: Send the photo, or I'll tell your brother you've been kidnapped by kangaroos.
Tom: Wouldn't that be "kangaknapped"?
I rolled my eyes at my phone screen.
Me: Really? You're making dad jokes from Australia?
Tom: That was a brilliant piece of wordplay.
Me: It was terrible, and you should have felt bad.
Tom: You laughed.
Me: Did not.
Tom: Did, too. I can practically see you trying not to smile right now.
I caught myself grinning and quickly forced my face straight, even though he couldn't see me.
Me: Nope. Stone-faced. Completely unamused. Writing you out of my will as we speak.
Tom: Harsh. And I was about to send you another photo.
Me: Is it as ridiculous as the last one?
Tom: Even better. But now I'm not sure you deserve it.
Me: I take it back! You're a comedic genius. Shakespeare is weeping with jealousy.
Tom: That's more like it. Though now you're just being sarcastic.
Me: Me? Sarcastic? Never.
Tom: Clearly, sarcasm is your default setting.
Me: I learned from the best, Professor.
Tom: It sounds like someone needs proper discipline. Don't worry; I'll handle that when I return.
My cheeks flushed hot as I read his message, a familiar warmth spreading down my neck. My fingers hovered over the keyboard as I tried to think of a witty response that wouldn't reveal how his words affected me.
Me: Oh no, I'm scared, Professor. Also, I may have pissed on your fancy leather couch.
Tom: If you damage my couch, you'll either have to clean it or buy me a new one. And I have expensive taste.
Me: First of all, your couch is fine. Second, if you're so worried about your precious furniture, maybe you shouldn't have given me your key. And third, don't think I've forgotten about that photo you promised.
My phone buzzed with Tom's response.
Tom: Since you asked so nicely...
A photo loaded, and I nearly dropped my phone. Instead of Tom's face, it was a picture of a kangaroo wearing sunglasses, lounging on what looked suspiciously like a leather couch.
Me: That's not funny.
Tom: I beg to differ. Look at his sophisticated pose. He's clearly a kangaroo of culture. He has better taste in furniture than you. Notice how he's NOT destroying my couch.
Me: First of all, your couch is FINE. Second, Kangaroo is clearly a paid actor.
Tom: His name is Kevin, and he's very offended by your accusations.
Me: Kevin the Kangaroo? Really? That's the best you could come up with?
Tom: He came with the name. I'm just respecting his life choices.
Me: Alright, respect Kevin's life choices. But I still want to see YOUR face. Video call?
Tom: Give me a second.
My phone lit up with an incoming video call. I smoothed my hair - which was ridiculous since I was wearing his stolen sweater anyway - and hit accept.
Tom's face filled my screen, his hair delightfully messy against his white t-shirt. The hotel room's dim lighting cast shadows across his features as he propped himself up against the headboard. My heart did that stupid little flip it always did when I saw him, even through a screen.
"Okay, spill. What was with that 'who is this' message? Were you trying to give me a heart attack?"
His lips curved into that infuriating smirk. "I thought it was obvious. Your voicemail was very interesting."
"Don't you dare-"
"'Hey, it's me,'" he mimicked. "'Which you probably knew from caller ID. Unless you don't have my number saved...'"
"Stop!" I buried my face in my hands. "We're never speaking of that again."
"Is that my sweater?"
I glanced down at the gray fabric drowning my frame. "No, this is my sweater now. I've claimed it through squatter's rights. And don't change the subject!"
"Squatter's rights apply to property, not clothing." His eyes darkened as they traced over the exposed skin where the sweater had slipped. "It looks better on you."
"Flattery won't save you. You really had me worried with those messages!"
Tom's expression softened. "I'm hurt that you'd think I wouldn't have your number saved."
I felt my cheeks flush. "Well, that voicemail was just me being silly. I know you have my number saved."
"Do I?" His eyes sparkled with mischief through the screen.
"Tom! You just pretended not to know who I was in those messages. That was mean."
"Was it?" He shifted, and I caught a glimpse of his bare chest where his t-shirt dipped. "I thought it was rather entertaining watching you spiral into conspiracy theories. Kangaknapped, really?"
"That was your terrible pun, not mine." I tugged his sweater closer. "And you still haven't explained why you played dumb."
"Maybe I just wanted to hear you get flustered." His voice dropped lower. "It's cute when you ramble."
"I do not ramble," I paused. "Okay, maybe a little. But seriously, what do you have me saved as on your phone?"
Tom's grin widened. "Who says I need to save your number? I've memorized it."
"Bullshit. Nobody memorizes phone numbers anymore."
"Try me." He rattled off my number perfectly, not missing a digit.
"Okay, fine. But there's still a contact name. Spill it."
I watched Tom's expression shift through the screen, a mix of playfulness and something deeper flickering across his face.
"You really want to know?"
"Yes! Come on, the suspense is killing me."
He paused, his eyes meeting mine through the screen. "Sunshine."
My heart skipped. "What?"
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