It was late -- not too late, but past the hour when texts usually feel professional. That soft zone between "just a question" and something else.
Lacey sat curled on the end of her bed, legs tucked under her, glass of red wine in hand. Her phone rested in her palm. The cursor blinked in the message box for too long.
She scrolled up through her delivery confirmation -- the automated notification from earlier that day. There it was: the number attached to Trey's pickup account. Officially, it was the business line.
Unofficially... she was about to blur that line.
She took one last sip, tapped the screen, and typed:
Hi Trey -- this is Lacey Covington. I hope it's okay I'm messaging here. Just wanted to see if I could shift Thursday's pickup to Friday instead. Let me know if that's possib
