Free The Big Rewind by Libby Cudmore

said, catching stray mozzarella-stick cheese on his index finger before popping it into his mouth. “Ugh, last year he went through a vegan phase; we almost had to break up. Even now if I order bacon at breakfast, it’s like I’m cheating on him.” He took out his phone and held it up, pulling me in close. “Let’s taunt him with our love affair,” he said, picking up a potato skin and passing it to me.
    We both made ironic duck faces and I held the potato skin up to his mouth, tilting it so Jim could see all the bacon piled on top. The flash went off and he quickly texted it. A few minutes later the phone buzzed with a photo of Jim, spooning a piece of cake into his gaping maw. He had a neatly trimmed goatee and clever eyes, a striped polo shirt and a leather cuff bracelet. “He went out and got an Entenmann’s lemon cake,” Jeremy explained. “He knows I love them, and now he’s threatening to eat the whole thing before I get home. What a jerk!” A second message rang in and he smiled. “Jim says you’re very pretty,” he read. “He can’t wait to meet you.”
    My own phone buzzed with a message from Sid, his pictureflashing up on the screen. “Who’s that?” Jeremy said, snatching my phone out of my hand. “He’s cute. Jett, please tell me he’s your boyfriend.”
    â€œJust a friend,” I said, surprised at how sour the words tasted on my tongue. I took a bite of brownie sundae to wash out the taste. “Wants to know if we’re still on for TV Tuesday night.” I texted him back a yes as I talked. “We’ve been doing these cop-show marathons.” I still hadn’t come up with an apology, but if he was trying to set up dinner plans, maybe that was his way of letting it all go. Chalk it up to a lack of sleep and pretend it never happened.
    â€œThat is too darling,” he said. “Jim is addicted to Cold Case— the two of them could talk about that while we sing show tunes on the Wii in the den.”
    I laughed. “That sounds like the best double date imaginable.”
    â€œThen let’s make it happen. I’m going on tour with Jesus Christ Superstar —I’m playing Herod, obviously, duh—in two weeks, but when I get back, we’ll make a plan.”
    He paid the check and held my hand as we walked to the subway. “I’m so sorry I didn’t keep in better touch,” he lamented. “It wasn’t personal; it wasn’t even gotta-get-out-of-this-small-town angst. I’d think about you and plan to look you up and then I’d just . . . forget. You know how it goes.”
    â€œIt was just time,” I said in agreement. “I could have looked you up too, but life gets busy.”
    There was a warm glow of pride in my heart. He had made it. Where everyone else in our small-town class—including me—seemed so doomed for dead ends and middle management, he’d clawed his way to the top of his dream. If it had been anyone else, I might have been envious, but I loved Jeremy with the soft, sweet kind of love that stays long after you’ve set a man free to fulfill his destiny. It couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person.
    He took both my hands and kissed me on the cheek. “It’s really great to see you,” he said. “Of all the girls I tried to date, you were always my favorite.”
    I drifted all the way home on that compliment. The idiot rom-com part of my brain wanted to be a little sad, to feel cheated that the two of us would never be together even though he was so perfect. I saved his number in my phone. His CD didn’t go back in the Boyfriend Box. Instead, I put it on the shelf with the rest of my musicals. It deserved no less of an honor.
    There was a postcard from my grandmother in my mailbox. Greetings from Paris, love from her and Royale. I fed Baldrick and added Jeremy on Facebook. I