Not now, she thought, deciding to let it go to voice mail.
Even though the ringing stopped, her flow had been disrupted, so she rose to pour herself a cup of coffee. She reread her work, sipping, then picked up where she left off.
Her coffee cup was empty when the phone rang again but this time, she blocked it out. Five minutes later a knock sounded against her door. Surprised, she jumped out of her chair. A woman, dressed smartly in a tweed blazer and slacks stood with a stern expression. Cassidy recognized her as the geology office secretary—Joan? Jillian?
“There’s someone trying to get a hold of you,” Joan-Jillian said, holding up a collection of white square memos. “Would you please answer them so he stops pestering me?” Her nostrils flared slightly, and the image of a dragon preparing to blast her with fire filled her mind.
“Sorry,” Cassidy said quickly, taking the memos from the secretary’s hand.
“Thank you,” the secretary said sternly. She turned and strode back down the hallway, her pumps clicking firmly against the warped floor.
Cassidy closed the door and shuffled through the messages. A tingle of energy zipped over her skin as she picked up the phone.
Pete answered on the second ring. “Hey, thanks for calling me back,” he said.
Cassidy lowered into her sturdy wooden office chair. “Sorry,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. She checked her cell phone for messages and was embarrassed to see that it was turned off. “I didn’t mean to give you the runaround. I have this proposal deadline, and I was teaching . . . ”
“No worries. Got time for a few follow-up questions?” he said, not missing a beat.
After the energy that seemed to hum between them after the waterfall, his businesslike tone made her pause.
“It’ll only take a few minutes,” he added.
She could feel the tension in his voice and realized that he was likely up against a deadline, too. “Of course,” Cassidy replied, trying to shift gears.
“Great,” Pete answered. He launched into a series of questions about where her seismic work might be applied. They talked about Etna and Kilauea and she told him about her proposal to join a project there.
“It makes me wonder,” Pete said after a flurry of key tapping. “Does it take some of the magic out of these things?”
Cassidy frowned.
“I mean, is there something a little bit sad about having the tools to predict eruptions down to the last data point?”
Cassidy couldn’t help wonder if this was some kind of trick question. “No, I don’t feel sad that we can predict hazards like volcanic eruptions. There’s still plenty of mystery left in the natural world and terrible danger, too. I don’t call earthquakes that destroy entire cities and kill thousands of people magical. That’s tragic. I’m proud of the fact that our work can help bring more order to people’s lives, and make our world safer.”
She realized that Pete was typing, and while she waited for him to finish, she reviewed what she had said. Did she sound like a self-righteous snob? Ugh, she thought, wishing she could start their conversation over.
“This is great,” Pete said.
She heard a chair creak and imagined him sitting back, satisfied. She understood that feeling—though she couldn’t help but feel apprehensive, vulnerable.
“So,” he said. “Maybe we could grab a beer sometime?”
Had his voice changed or had she just imagined it? “Sure,” she replied, taking a deep breath to squash the butterflies tickling her insides.
“So I can thank you,” he added.
“Thank me for what?” Cassidy asked, twisting the black phone coil between her fingers.
“Sharing your fieldwork with me,” he replied. “The waterfall. Answering my call today.”
“You helped me too. I should be the one buying you a beer. I’ll be hiring former farm kids as my field assistants from now on,” she joked.
He chuckled. They worked out the location, a pub in Cassidy’s neighborhood, and the date. “Okay, well, I should get this story to bed.”
Cassidy’s brain went to the idea of her bed, and Pete in it, and the butterflies took off again. “Uh, right,” she managed, shoving the image away.
“See you Friday,” he said.
“Friday,” she replied.
After they hung up, Cassidy sat back, unable to keep the grin from her lips.
That night, her housemate Emily pounced on the news.
“You like this guy, yeah?” Emily stood in their shared kitchen in her pajama bottoms, bunny slippers, and a hoody with A Woman’s Place is On Top, Women’s Annapurna Expedition 1986 silkscreened across the chest with a snowy peak in the background. She removed a bag of popcorn from the microwave and pulled the top apart.
Cassidy’s cheeks felt warm. “I don’t know.”
“Bullshit,” Emily said, munching on a handful of popcorn.
Cassidy sighed. “He sort of annoys me.”
“That’s nothing special. Most people annoy you,” Emily replied, cocking her eyebrow.
Cassidy grinned. “Guilty,” she replied. But what annoyed her about the journalist was that he seemed to know so much about her life while she knew practically nothing about his. In some ways, it was refreshing to spar with a worthy opponent about scientifically complex topics—her last date had been with a semi-pro skateboarder she had met at a party; he was a good kisser but called her “dude” and thought Charles Darwin was the leader of a 80s butt-rock band—but it also felt like Pete had disputed with her for fun, just to see how she
