I heard it was you who set up my office. It’s perfect. Thank you.
Have a great day.
Hope you are okay.
It’s raining. I hope you brought your umbrella.
I ignored them and never replied. But my day didn’t feel complete until one arrived. Friday I was disappointed when one never came. I was sitting on my sofa that evening, sipping a glass of wine when my phone buzzed.
You looked pretty today.
I stared at the screen and another message popped up.
I miss you.
I responded.
Please stop.
A minute went by, then two. Finally a message appeared.
Never.
I shook my head, trying not to grin. So Mitch—persistent to the end.
Saturday and Sunday, his texts were more frequent—and personal.
My bed isn’t as comfortable without you in it.
My pillow smells like you.
I wish you were here.
Remember when this time last week you liked me? Can we go back to then, please?
Coffee?
Accidental run in at the market?
Meet me at the bus stop and we’ll ride around for a few hours until you’re not mad anymore?
Finally, Sunday night, one last one came.
Please forgive me. Give me that at least. Tell me you miss me—even a little.
I stared at the screen for a long time, then with a heavy sigh, typed a reply.
Yes.
His response was instant.
Thank you.
A while later…
My plan worked. You’re talking to me again. Now, I’ll move on to step 2, and yes, it’s a 3 step plan.
My lips quirked, but I shut off my phone. Forgiving him was one thing, letting him get back under my skin—and into my life—another.