Page 42 of Never Your Valentine

“Aren’t you buying coffee?”

“I have coffee.” I pull my delicious vanilla latte closer.

“What about Grant?”

“Oh, um. Yeah. I suppose that was the deal.” I fish my wallet out of my bag.

“I’ve got it.” Grant is halfway out of his chair.

“No, no, sit. I should buy you a coffee.” I get a flash of last night in the parking lot, when Grant asked me out for coffee. What even was that? What even is this? “It’s the least I can do,” I say. “You were right. About everything.”

“I was what?”

“You were right.”

Grant touches his ear. “Come again?”

“You were right!” I say loud enough for everyone in the bakery to swivel in our direction. My cheeks heat as the buzz of conversation returns, and I wonder how much of it is about us.

Grant flings an arm over the back of his chair with a satisfied smile. “I could get used to that.”

Chapter 16

Grant

I see her before she sees me. Annabelle stands outside Emerald Gifts, peeking through the window like she’s casing the place for a heist.

I stop a few feet behind her. “You know,” I say, “normal people just go inside a store.”

She jumps and whirls. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

I tilt my head toward the window. “What are you doing? Counting how many grandmas buy your ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ stuff?”

She shushes me with both index fingers on her lips. “Let me have this.”

“Oh no.” I stride past her and open the door. “I’m definitely going in.”

“Grant, don’t,” she stage-whispers, but she follows me anyway.

Emerald Gifts smells like pastel disappointment. Or maybe that’s the candle display. I wave to my Aunt Brenda and head for the spinner rack of cards that sits next to the jewelry. Annabelle’s are easy to spot with their bright colors and cartoon drawings. I already know the insides are going to be aggressively hopeful with a hint of silly. In short, pure Annabelle.

I pluck a card off the rack. It has two cartoon socks on the front. “Let me guess,” I say, not opening it. “Inside it says: You’re the only match for me.”

She gives a little nod. “That’s actually pretty good.”

“Or,” I add, “Maybe something like: Life would stink without you.”

“That’s not good.”

I open the card. “You warm my heart.” I close the card again. “That doesn’t work at all. Socks don’t warm hearts. They warm feet. And also disappear in the dryer. Which, honestly, feels like a decent metaphor for relationships.”

I pull another card. This one is a cartoon sun wearing sunglasses. “I’m feeling this one. Inside it says something motivational and deeply upsetting.”

She crosses her arms. “Like what?”

“I bet it says: Shine bright, beautiful soul.” I wiggle the card at her. “With extra sparkles, because you people can’t help yourselves.”

“You people?” She looks offended and somehow sparkly at the same time.