And because he isn't entirely wrong.
I do care.
More than I should.
More than I ever planned to.
And as I button my shirt and glance at the clock, one thought keeps circling through my head.
Forty-five minutes.
That's how long until I see Mary.
Forty-five minutes until I hear her laugh.
Until I see her smile.
Until she rolls her eyes at me and pretends not to like the nickname.
And for the first time in my life, waiting feels impossible.
Her laugh.
The way she blushes when I call her Firecracker.
And somewhere between hanging up on jerkwad and grabbing my keys, I finally stop fighting the truth.
I'm not falling for Mary Donahue.
I'm already there.
Hopelessly.
Completely.
And I don't want out.
Not now.
Not ever.
Twenty-Two
Mary
I'm still floating on air when I walk into school Monday morning.
Which is ridiculous.
Completely ridiculous.
I'm thirty-four years old, not fourteen.
And yet here I am practically skipping through the halls of Our Lady of Grace Academy an hour and fifteen minutes before first bell because that's my routine.
Always early.
Always prepared.