I remember what it feels like to love him. Even though I don’t love him in quite the same way anymore.

I gaze up at Billy’s face as he sings the song’s words softly. To me.

Looking back now, I’m not exactly sure who leaned where, who moved first. All I know is one minute we were dancing in the middle of the skating rink . . . and the next, Billy was kissing me.

And it only took a second before I was kissing him back.

Chapter 12

Kissing Billy is . . . nice. It’s familiar. Sweet.

Like finding your old Strawberry Shortcake house in your parents’ attic. And you smile when you see it. You run your hand over the balcony and remember all the days you spent wrapped up in its make-believe world. It’s nostalgic. A part of your childhood.

But it’s a part you’ve left behind. Because you’re a grown-up now.

So no matter how dear the memories are, you’re not going to bust out Apple Dumplin’ and Plum Puddin’ and start playing.

The kiss ends and I lower my head. And I stare at Billy’s shirt.

You know that line—I think it’s from a song—if you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with?

That could fit really well in this situation.

Except for the fact that I already love Billy. Too much to take advantage of his devotion—too much to use him to heal my broken heart and bruised ego. he deserves better than that. Billy Warren is no one’s consolation prize. And I’d happily scratch the eyes out of any woman who tried to make him one.

he once told me I wasn’t the girl he fell in love with anymore.

And as much as it hurt to hear, as inadequate as it made me feel at the time—he was right.

I’m not that girl anymore.

I drag my eyes from his shirt to his face. “Billy . . .”

he puts his finger to my lips, brushing them softly. he closes his eyes and takes a breath. Neither of us moves for a moment, caught up for a few final seconds in the enchantment of the past.

Then he speaks, breaking the spell. “Being here with you? It’s awesome. As good as I remember—better, even. It feels . . . it feels like we got to take a ride in the DeLorean.” his hand holds my face tenderly. “But it’s okay, Kate. It was just for a minute. And now we’re back to the future. It doesn’t have to mean anything more than that. It doesn’t have to change what we have now, ’cause that’s pretty awesome too.”

I nod, relieved. Thankful that Billy knows what I feel without me having to say the words. And that he feels the same.

“Okay.”

he smiles. “I should get you home, before Carol calls out the dogs. Or worse—Amelia.”

I chuckle. And hand in hand, we leave the roller-skating rink and all of its memories behind.

Twenty minutes later, Billy pulls into the back parking lot of my mother’s diner. We sit in the truck silently, side by side.

“You want me to walk you up?”

“No—it’s all right. I can manage.”

he nods slowly. “So . . . is there gonna be like . . . weirdness between us now? Because we tongue-wrestled for a couple minutes?”

Like I said before—Billy always did have a way with words.

“No. No weirdness. No worries.”

he needs further confirmation. “You still my girl, Katie?”

he doesn’t mean in the girlfriend way. he means in the friend—the best friend, who happens to be a girl—kind of way. In case you were wondering.

“I’ll always be your girl, Billy.”

“Good.” he turns his head to the windshield and looks out.

“You should really think about California. I think it would be a nice change for you. A clean break.”

he’s right, in a way. California would be a blank page for me.

No memories. No painful run-ins. No awkward conversations.

And with my résumé, I don’t foresee finding a new job to be too much of a problem.

That being said . . . I have connections in New York. Roots.

And I’m not sure I want to sever all of them. So like every other aspect of my life at the moment, I don’t know what the hell I want to do.

Sound like a broken record, don’t I? Sorry.

I put my hand over his on the gearshift. “I’ll think about it.”

he puts his other hand on top of mine. “You’ll figure it out, Kate—I know you will. And it gets better. You won’t hurt like this forever. I speak from experience.”

I smile gratefully. “Thanks, Billy. For everything.” Then I climb out of the truck and he drives away.

After letting my mother know I’m back, I head to my room. I shut the door behind me and lean against it. Exhausted.

Talk about a long frigging day.

My mother’s cleaned my room. Not that it was messy before, but I can tell. The pillows are fluffed just a bit more, and my cell phone sits neatly on the nightstand.

I kick off my shoes, pick it up, and turn it on. Despite my hissy fit earlier, it still works. I stare at the numbers. They’re lit up. Calling to me. Taunting me.

It would be so easy. Just ten quick digits and I could hear his voice. It’s been forever since I heard his voice. My hands shake a little. Like a junkie, needing a fix—just a taste.

Do you think he’d pick up?

Do you think he’d be alone if he did?

And that’s the thought that kills the craving. There’s no way I’m calling.

Still . . . I don’t listen to my voicemails often. Usually I just check the missed call list. I delete my voicemails even less.