“Hi, I called you last week about registration—”
I opened the cupboard to get a plate for my cinnamon raisin bagel that was being toasted as I spoke.
Without letting me finish my sentence, the sexy voice, still this aching tone—not from a sore throat, then—declared, “Hi, yourself.” A cough on the other end of the line. “Oh, I remember you!” He chuckled. “You hung up on me so fast I didn’t get your name.”
How could he remember me from a week ago?
“So I guess, it’s ‘Hi, yourself… again’, right?” He paused for a split second, in a playful tone, added, “I do remember your voice, though. Will you tell me your name this time or are we gonna play hide and seek again? That’s why you’re calling back, right? You realized your mistake?”
Flabbergasted, I replied, putting a large amount of cream cheese on my heated bagel. “Exactly… I forgot to give you my name. You’re gifted, you know, recognizing my voice like that. I bet I wasn’t the only one who called to enroll.”
A giggle that almost came out as a roar.
“You’re right, I got a few phone calls…” He coughed again then said, “But actually recognizing your voice was pretty easy. I like your voice: warm, confident, although I can hear a little bit of worry in it, probably due to both excitement and fright at attending the workshop as you’re curious about what to expect, I would say.”
Did he say that to everybody, to be nice?
“Your voice is tinged with… I don’t know, sorrow, I would say, and that’s why it sounds different.”
O-kay, where did that come from? I sighed at his accurate comment.
“Well,” I started, biting on the bagel to buy me some time, “Thanks for the comment on my voice. You’re insightful, I must add.”
And out of the blue I blurted out, “I love your voice… too… mmm.”
Did I say that out loud? Sure I meant it but couldn’t say that to a complete stranger.
“I mean… I like your voice, too.”
Silly me. Now he was going to think I was hitting on him over the phone. Great!
“Thanks, stranger. And by the way, I wasn’t making a comment about your voice I was paying you a compliment,” he stated, correcting my assumption. “So, anyway, what did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t give it to you, yet. Sorry, I’m not doing that on purpose, I swear.”
Here I was, toying with my hair again, embarrassed. “My name is Rose Perry.”
“So I remember you’ve always wanted to learn calligraphy but never had the chance, is that correct?”
Calm and in control, with a sensual kind of a rugged voice, from which you could altogether fantasize about a hot guy as its beholder.
© 2015 Hope Irving