28
Two months later
Agathe peered out the train’s scuffed window, the click-clack of metal wheels setting her heart to flutter. Roseford Station loomed just ahead, its red-tile roof hovering above a black asphalt platform. She veered her gaze to her phone in her hand, half to deny her arrival, half to browse the list of recent messages sent from Luke:
We need to talk.
I can’t stop thinking about you.
I’m an i***t.
She frowned at that last one, so unlike him, but perhaps an indication he wasn’t doing so well these days. He hadn’t contacted her in two months, but over the past two weeks, she’d received five messages. Five messages she hadn’t responded to, even though she’d put herself on this train to see him.
Please, Agathe. I’m a pain in the a*s without you.
The wording in that mes
