She figured if she was going to think about him, it would damn well be on her own terms.

For the first time in her life, she splurged on something impractical. Retail therapy.

She got a shiny black iPod to match the MacBook she’d gotten for her impending classwork.

She spent four hours on iTunes downloading music.

Rufus Wainwright. Death Cab For Cutie. The Shins. The Killers. Johnny Cash. Snow Patrol. Queen. The Beatles. Fiona Apple. Ben Folds.

Hundreds more.

Every song he’d ever played for her.

And she put them all into a playlist she named “More Than That”.