She should have been resting easy, secure in the knowledge that she’d made the right decision, put herself on the right path, but she couldn’t seem to stop thinking of Michael.She couldn’t stand the way they’d left things. Of course their relationship had to end, but she didn’t want his memory of her last words to him to be whatever she’d said. She couldn’t even remember now what she’d thrown at him before running away. All she could remember was her frustration.She had to talk to him. They could part as friends, at least. And he was her friend, as unlikely as that seemed. Over the course of the last few months, Michael had become one of her best friends. She would miss the way he could make her crazed with lust, but she would also miss the lazy conversation in the quiet hours before morning. They would talk about everything and nothing. Nonsense conversations that hadn’t really meant anything, until she realized how much they meant to her.He listened to her. He didn’t always understand her—they came at life from such different angles—but he always listened, with such intense concentration, bringing everything he had to puzzling her out.Through the stillness of the spring night, she heard footsteps rushing up the path to her house.
