“I would’ve hung up and emailed you.” He chuckles. “You’ve never been one to ramble, so is it because you’re nervous … or is it just me?”

My racing heart kicks up a few extra notches because it’s totally him. I’m tempted to tell him that I do ramble and he just doesn’t remember correctly, because telling Devin that it’s him is the equivalent of slicing my chest open and laying my heart on the line—and quite frankly, my heart has been through enough lately. But as tempting as it is, I know that I have to tell him the truth. We’ve come too far and built too much in such a short amount of time, and whatever this is, I don’t want to jeopardize it … or lose it.

“It’s you.” Leaning forward, I prop my hands on the counter. Holy shit, that was terrifying.

Devin blows out a slow breath but doesn’t respond. Oh shit. My stomach tightens as I try to come up with a way to dig myself out of this. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“I like your answer.”

“You do?” That knot in my stomach unravels, taking with it the urge to throw up.

“More than I probably should,” he says with a sigh. The line crackles, going completely silent for a few beats, and I’m worried that the call was somehow dropped when I hear him clear his voice. “I have a confession to make.”

“Okay …” My nerves are running at high speed, so I grab a pot from beneath the sink. Maybe if I keep myself busy, I’ll be more relaxed.

“Shit,” he says, laughing. “I really don’t want you to think I’m some sort of stalker …”

“Spit it out, Sergeant,” I quip.

“I stalked your MySpace page,” he breathes, quickly rushing to explain. “My friend Navas, that fucker, had me convinced that I needed to see you again, to see what you’ve been up to. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to know what you looked like after all these years, but … are you laughing at me?”

“S-sorry.” I gasp to catch my breath. “I’m laughing because—” My abs constrict, tears of happiness—and quite possibly relief—running down my face. I suck in a breath. “I totally stalked you too.”

“You did?” He sounds surprised, which makes me laugh harder.

“Yes, I had to. Maggie made me!” Filling the pot up with water, I place it on the stove, setting the temperature to high.

“She made you?” he teases. “How did she make you?”

“She’s evil, Devin. She’s a little devil, and she’s enamored with you and your chiseled abs.”

“I think Maggie and I are going to be great friends.”

“I’ll tell her you said that.” Wiping the wetness from my face, I pull the angel hair pasta from the cupboard.

“And you … were you enamored with my chiseled abs?” I smile, picturing Devin with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Nah. Your abs could use some work, if you ask me,” I joke.

Devin’s laugh is deep and throaty, and it does things to me that a laugh should never be able to do to someone. It’s quickly becoming my favorite sound. “I’ll have to remember to do an extra set of sit-ups tomorrow.”

“Your smile.”

“Huh?”

“It was your smile that got to me.” Without permission, my mouth continues to spew exactly what’s running through my head. “I miss seeing the way it lit up your face. And that dimple in your left cheek … I shouldn’t be surprised that it’s just as sexy now as it was then.”

He sucks in a sharp breath at my confession. Then the line goes quiet, and I can’t help but think that I’m crazy for opening my mouth and saying those things. What the hell was I thinking?

“How are you, Katie?” Devin’s voice is infused with so much emotion. I take a deep breath, thankful that we’re finally getting the chance to talk while simultaneously trying not to dwell on the fact that he didn’t mention what he thought about me. I know I don’t look the same. What if he doesn’t find me attractive anymore?

“Good,” I answer honestly. I drop the pasta into the near boiling pot of water. “I’m good. I had a session with Dr. Perry tonight, and I told her that I think I’m ready to read Andrew Drexler’s letter.”

“Wow,” he breathes. “That’s a huge step. But you’re strong, and if anyone can do it, I know you can. I’m so proud of you.”

Hearing him tell me that he’s proud of me gives me an enormous amount of confidence, but it also makes me nervous. “I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

Closing my eyes, I conjure up a vision of my dad. He’s smiling, his round cheeks red from laughter, and I wonder what he would want me to do. “He’d want me to forgive him,” I murmur, quickly repeating those words as they sink in. “Daddy would want me to forgive him.”

“One step at a time, that’s all you can do. Read the letter first, listen to what he has to say and then go from there. You don’t have to forgive him right away—or at all, for that matter—but at least you’re taking that step. Just remember you’re taking that step for you, and no one else.”

“Wait a minute … is this Dr. Perry?” I quip. “No really, what did you do with her?”

“Ha ha.”

The faint sound of water sizzling catches my attention, so I open my eyes and whip around. “Shit.” Quickly, I turn the temperature of the stovetop down and blow across the top of the steaming water until it stops boiling over.

“Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”

“No, I’m fine. Just a little cooking mishap. And in case you’re wondering, no, I’m not a better cook now than I was before you left.”

“Duly noted.” Devin yawns through the line and I look at my watch. Six forty-five. I wonder what time it is where he’s at. “What are you cooking?”

“Do you really want me to tell you?” I ask. “Is it going to make you dream of food?”

“Tell me, woman. Let me live vicariously through you.”

“Okay,” I drawl. “Wait for it … wait for it … spaghetti!”

“Mmmm.” Devin moans, deep and long. The vibration in his voice slams into me like a tidal wave. Desire pools low in my belly, and a vision of the two of us naked and writhing in bed flashes through my head.

“That’s sounds so good,” he says.

“It—” My voice squeaks and I clear my throat, thankful when the words come out right the second time around. “It is. It’s become my specialty.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your secret?”

“Well, if I told ya, I’d have to kill ya.”

“Wow, now I’m dying to know.”

“Fine, fine, twist my arm, why don’t you? It’s chicken.”

“What?” He chuckles. “Chicken?”

“Yeah. I put chicken in the spaghetti rather than beef. It’s amazing! I’ll make it for you some time.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”

I hope you do, soldier. “It’ll be great. We can have a spaghetti picnic under the stars. If you’re good, I’ll even pack Cool Ranch chips and Mountain Dew.”

“You remembered,” he mumbles as though lost in thought. I nod my head, but by the time I remember I’m on the phone and he can’t actually see me, he starts talking again. “And on this picnic, will you serenade me with Backstreet Boys too?”

We both fall into a fit of laughter as we argue the age-old question of who is better—or worse, as Devin likes to say—Backstreet Boys or NSYNC. Then I go on to tell him about Bailey, why she’s upset with me, and how she ended up here tonight—leaving out the fact that Wyatt brought her. He doesn’t need to know everything.

Devin tells me some funny stories about his friend Navas, and I can tell by the way he talks about him that Navas is a good person. I’m glad that Devin has someone like that in his life—someone he can trust and talk to that’s there with him, day in and day out. If I’m being honest, I’m a little jealous that I’ve been replaced, and then I wonder if that’s how Devin feels when I go on and on about Maggie.

Devin is yawning nearly every other word, and when I glance at the clock in my kitchen, I notice that we’ve been on the phone for nearly an hour. “You sound exhausted. What time is it there?”

“Ummm …” The phone buzzes and crackles a few more times. “Almost two-fifteen.”