Page 48 of Crazy About Love (All About Love)

Chapter 12

PRESENT DAY

I plop my ass on a bench in the train station and pull out my phone, flicking through the old messages as if they weren’t conversations I had just days ago. Landon’s left me so many texts I’m tempted to call him, but it’s late and I’m not in the mood to summarize the last five years, which essentially killed the night before it even started.

Do we need a redo?

I drag my thumb over the words, highlighting them in the message bubble. I’d like to redo a lot of things. Hell, if I go back far enough I could redo the decision to move to New York. I could’ve met that someone who will make the feelings I have for Theresa seem like child’s play.

On second thought, New York was a good move. There are auditions and opportunity here I couldn’t find anywhere else. My friends are here—orwerehere. Romance aside, that decision led to great things. So no redo there.

Maybe I’d just redo everything involving Theresa. Every time I sang with her, or for her, I’d keep my mouth shut instead. When everyone left us alone, I’d take it as my cue to head home too. Every time she sat behind a piano, I’d plug my ears. I’d avoid all touch, refuse to meet her gaze, stay aloof and unattached, and put in only a minimal effort, so she wouldn’t want to be around me. So I wouldn’t inevitably fall for her intoxicating personality and beauty. We’d hardly know each other today, what with the rest of our group moving on, creating families. I might get an invitation to her wedding or friend her on Facebook, but our lives wouldn’t be so reliant on each other. I wouldn’t be so aware of the void in my heart of having her but not having her. I’d redo it for the sweet oblivion of never knowing what it’s like to be so in love and not be able to do a damn thing about it.

A bell rings out through the station, and I look up at the schedule. I have five more minutes of wallowing before I can head home and forget about this night and how screwed I am.

My phone buzzes in my hand, startling me out of my reverie. I gaze down at the already opened message thread, ignoring the newest message from Landon and tapping on the keypad under Theresa’s name. I typeRedointo the message, delete it, and type it again. I envision her face, her eyes done up nicely for the auction, her dress hugging her curves, and her wide smile. I recall the hitches in her breathing, the goose bumps rising on her skin, her closeness not being close enough, and I realize that I do want a redo, but not for sweet oblivion. I want to fight harder, say how I feel over and over again, tell her that I think she loves me too. I want to go back to our last night together and erase the words I said and replace them withI love youand promises of forever.

I don’t care how crazy it is that I’m here again—in the train station where I first fell for her laugh and smile and joy—three years later and I’m still just as in love today as I was then. And I’m going to tell her.

My thumb taps the send button and the bubble appears in my message box. If she’s up, she’ll see that I called a redo. She’ll know what it means.

I blow out a sigh. Then I hear the sound of a phone notification ringing through the station. It’s a short, high-pitched, robotic voice saying, “Wahoo! Text message!”

I know it well.

I’ve heard it many, many times before, and not because it’s my message tone.

It’s Theresa’s.

And she’s sitting on a bench at the other end of the station.

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