Page 22 of A Match Made In Fall

I frown. “Where is my phone?”

“It sounds like it’s coming from somewhere near you,” my mom says, pointing in my direction.

After shoving aside books, I finally grab my phone from underneath more clothes.

The second I see the screen, every thought in my head disappears. A wave of nausea takes over and for a second, it feels like I’ve completely left my body.

“Isabella?” My mom’s voice cuts through the silence. “Are you okay?”

I stare at the message, not moving or saying a word.

“You just went pale,” she says, sitting up straighter. “Is it your foot? Did you move it the wrong way? You need to be careful.”

I slowly shake my head, still trying to process what I’m seeing.

“It’s not my foot.”

“Then what is it?”

“Dexter sent me a message.” I hold up my phone.

Her eyes widen.

“He did?” she asks carefully. “What does it say?”

I clear my throat and begin reading aloud.

“Hi. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to reach out. I’ve wanted to send this message for weeks. I’m so sorry about your injury. I can only imagine how devastated you must be. I hope you’re recovering okay. Maybe we could catch up soon. — Dex.”

My mom’s expression turns thoughtful as she leans back against the back of the couch.

“Okay,” she says slowly. “So he’s checking in on you.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“You don’t have to respond,” she reminds me gently.

“I know.”

“Unless you want to.”

I stare down at my phone. The screen has already dimmed, but the message is still there waiting for me.

Do I want to respond? I honestly don’t know.

But there is a part of me that’s curious. And another part of me wants to delete the message and forget I ever saw it.

Instead, I ignore it and set the phone face down on the floor next to me.

“It was nice of him to reach out,” I say with a shrug, turning back to the half-unpacked box I was sorting through. “He’s probably just being polite. I mean, we cared about each other a lot and he knows how important dancing is to me.”

My mom doesn’t say anything. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head, piecing together thoughts and debating on what to say out loud.

“It would make sense if you felt confused by his message,” she says carefully.

I pull a stack of books out of the box. “I’m not confused.”

Of course this isn’t true. I am confused, and why wouldn’t I be? Dexter and I haven’t spoken in forever. Our breakup was painful, but it was a clean break. We’d said everything there was to say and went our separate ways. And that was it—until today’s text. Dexter made it very clear that building his business was his focus and that he needed to move forward giving it all his attention.