Page 42 of Crazy About Love (All About Love)

I park in Theresa’s stall at her place since her main form of transportation is her own two feet, and then take the stairs two at a time to get to her. I’m too pumped to wait for an elevator. The last month or so has been pure adrenaline in her company. I don’t know if it’s her or if it’s me, but things are better than they ever have been. Yeah, I’m still in love with her, but it’s not so painful anymore. Maybe because she’s stopped looking at me like some wounded puppy.

I tap one knuckle against the door before pushing it open a crack. “You naked?”

Something clinks in the kitchen, and I hear Theresa’s laugh float through the air. “Maybe I should be. Might make cleaning more fun.”

After the all-clear I step inside and slide off my jacket. She’s elbow-deep in sink suds, cringing at something she can’t quite scrub off. The woman rarely cleans, so when she does it’s adorable and amusing to watch her attempt it.

I join her in the kitchen and roll my sleeves to my elbows. She looks at the clock on the oven behind her.

“Ooh, that bad, huh?” she asks.

“Bright side,” I say, pointing my finger at her, “I now have a better understanding of the Democratic Party.”

“Ew, she talked politics on a first date?”

“And cats. I also know too much about her cats.”

She raises an eyebrow. “How many does she have?”

“Five.”

“Their names are…?”

“Huey, Dewey, and Louie, and the twins are Mary-Kate and Ashley.”

“You lie.”

“I wish.”

She laughs and makes awhomp whompsound effect.

“Still better than the worst date you’ve had,” I say, nudging her as I grab a hand towel.

“Getting puked on is hard to beat.”

I’d totally forgotten about that one. Tiny chuckles shake my shoulders, and she playfully nudges me back, splashing some water out of the sink and onto the counter.

“I was actually talking about the guy who robbed you,” I say.

“That one wasn’tsobad.” She hands me a wet plate to dry. “I did get a phenomenal kiss that night.”

My stomach jumps up into my throat, and I have to shove it back down where it belongs in order to speak properly.

“Phenomenal. This is true.”

She wrinkles her nose in a playful Eskimo-kiss way, and before I have a chance to ruin the repartee we have going with another declaration of love, a wave of soapy dishwater floods the countertop and the waistband of my pants. I shake my head at her and take a step back so I don’t get any wetter.

She starts singing under her breath, and instead of joining in this time I listen and think, wondering why she’d bring up the subject we are so used to sweeping under the very crowded rug. (Not that I don’t like hearing that the kiss we shared the night she was robbed was “phenomenal.” I’ve often described it that way in my head.) It was just brought up so casually. Guess time has done its healing thing. Either that or she’s moved on and hasn’t said anything. Maybe I’m feeling this closeness and pull toward her simply because she’s a pleasure to be around. No drama, no mess. Like another friend in our circle right now.

“Can I ask you a question without you laughing at me?” I ask, rotating the towel around the plate I’ve been drying for a solid three minutes. Any more and I’ll dry off the patterned hearts around the edges.

“I make no promises,” she teases. I take a deep breath and just blurt it out.

“Did you sleep with Jace?”

Uncontrollable rumbles of laughter roll out of her, one after the other, so much so that she has to clutch the kitchen sink to keep herself upright. Unbridled relief starts filling me up from toe to neck, grateful to get this reaction from her. Though it’s a bit ridiculous now that I say it out loud.

I feel my nose wrinkling up and I nod at the dish I’m drying. “Yes, thank you for answering that with so much sensitivity. I don’t feel like an idiot at all.”

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