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My stupid response had simply been:
You’re welcome.
Ugh. What was wrong with me?
Why did I crave more from him, only to act like an antisocial nincompoop when he finally reached out?
Running my finger over the last words he’d written, I tried to think up something to write to him now. But what? We’d gotten everything sorted between us with the apartment issue, and I still remembered nothing from my coma days that I could mention or ask him about.I miss youseemed completely inappropriate since I’d spent a total of one afternoon with the guy.
But I think I reallydidmiss him.
I should just say something. Anything. He’d always been extremely responsive when I’d texted before.
What if he was busy with some other girl, though?
Damn. Itwasa Friday evening, and he was an extremely hot, star athlete. He’d probably been with a dozen other women since me.
So what if he’d told me he’dfallenfor me during my coma; that had been weeks ago, and I’d reciprocated those feelings to him, like,not at all. Of course, he’d moved on.
Acid filled my stomach just thinking about him doing with some other girl what he’d done with me. And I started to type out a message before I could stop myself.
How’s the moving going?
There. That sounded good. I pressed send and held my breath, hoping I hadn’t just made a complete ass of myself.
But three little dots appeared almost immediately, and I shuddered out a giddy breath, eager to see what his answer would be.
I’m actually unpacking the last few boxes now.
Seconds later, an image popped up of my front room, decorated differently than howI’dhad it. He had a lot of Haverick’s yellow and brown school colors in there, and he’d even rearranged the furniture that had come with the place.
I wrote back immediately.
Oh my goodness! There’s so much boy stuff in my living room.
He replied with a laughing emoji, only to start writing something else. Another second later, his text popped up.
Just say the word, and I’ll clear it out so you can move back in.
Heaviness filled my chest with his good-natured teasing.DidI want to go back to Westport? I didn’t feel satisfied and fulfilledhereanymore, but that didn’t mean anything would be better there.
Foster must’ve known he’d touched on a sore point because he immediately changed the subject.
How’s the recovery going?
Fine,
I answered lamely.
I think. Physically, everything seems just about completely normal again, but emotionally… I don’t know.
As soon as I pushed send, I wished I could delete the whole message. Seriously, though, why the hell had I told him that? The best way to freak a guy out and scare him off was to tell him howunstableyou were feeling.
Except Foster answered in moments.
Strange how the physical recovery goes faster than the emotional one, isn’t it? Seems like it should be the other way around. Do you need to talk anything out? I could call.
Dear Lord, but Foster Union had to be the sweetest guy on the planet. I swear.
