Page 45 of Never Your Valentine

“I used to think it was,” she says as she puts the card back. “And now look at us. You’re roasting my entire product line and I’m letting you do it.”

“It’s not personal.” I gesture to the other, non-Annabelle cards on the rack. “I could do this for all of them.”

“I think that’s enough for one day.” Annabelle loops her arm through mine like we’ve done this a hundred times. She tugs me toward the door. “Let’s get out of here before your aunt bans us for life.”

Super Savers hums with midweek, midwinter energy, as people who haven’t seen each other since Christmas suddenly remember that they all buy groceries in the same place. The aisles are crowded with cart-blocking conversations and I overhear, “How’s the new job?” and, “Did you have that knee surgery?” on my way to get coffee and cereal. Fluorescent lights hum above and the scent of chocolate chip cookies spills over from the bakery section.

A couple holding hands walks side-by-side, taking up most of the aisle, and I’m nearly pushed into a display of coffee pods. The Hoffnagel sisters pass me, barely pausing their fight about pasta brands, until they accidentally clip me with their cart. All three of us apologize at the same time and then reassure each other that it’s all good. A very pregnant woman gives me an “ope!” as she reaches past me to grab tea bags.

I duck into the aisle that sells breakfast food. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull up a text from a familiar contact. I haven’t spoken to Marianne in over a year, but I still get a warm glow in my chest when I see her name.

Marianne: Hey

Grant: Hey. What’s up?

Marianne: Big news! I’m getting married

A cart squeaks behind me. A man asks his boyfriend if they have enough milk. At the end of the aisle, a trio of moms are discussing cupcakes for a school Valentine’s Day party. In the distance, the deli clerk calls out number twelve. I put back a box of sugary cereal and grab Wheaties instead. Having a mature conversation with your ex calls for more grown-up choices.

Marianne is a physical therapist who loves her job and is very settled in Marquette. We tried being long-distance, with phone calls, weekend visits, and ninety miles of road between us. I thought it was perfect. She thought it was impossible. We were both right. It was perfect for me. Impossible for her.

Grant: Congratulations. I’m sure he’s a good man

Marianne: He’s a doctor

Not the same thing, but I let it slide. Some people might read her text as gloating, but it’s not like that. We ended it cleanly, with no regrets. She’s not looking for anything from me. This is just information, like a comma dropped in the middle of life.

I’ve drifted down the aisle and find myself staring at the pancake mix. I shake my head and return to my cart, then text Marianne again.

Grant: Wishing you both all the happiness in the world

Marianne: I am. I am happy. How have you been?

Grant: Can’t complain

Marianne: I’m glad. Be well, Grant

I’m very well, actually. This life I have suits me. I own a business. I’ve got family and friends all around me. I live in the best place on Earth.

For a guy like me, this is as good as it gets.

Chapter 17

Annabelle

We get three sunny days in a row, which is probably some kind of February record. My new ear protectors silence the crashes from downstairs. I’ve figured out the quirks of my kitchen and I’ve been cooking my Nana’s recipes. I’ve been trying to work more but my butt hurts from my kitchen chairs and my kitchen table is the wrong height for drawing.

Lia takes me to Escanaba, where I find a decent office chair at Meijer. I rearrange all my living room furniture, add shelving units along one wall, and find a used desk at The Restyle Room.

Grant helps me carry it up to my apartment. Today, his t-shirt says “Yoop! There it is.” I don’t comment on it. It stretches across his chest when he lifts the desk. I don’t comment on that either.

Because here’s the thing. Grant and I? We’re not a match. He’s cynical. I’m romantic. He likes temporary arrangements. I’m holding out for my forever person. Is there chemistry between us? Absolutely. Are we going to do anything about it? Absolutely not.

Grant grunts as we reach stair number seventeen. “Remind me again why you needed a desk that weighs more than a baby elephant?”

“It’s rugged.” I adjust my grip on the edge of the oak desk. I’m taking the front end as we go up, so Grant’s bearing most of the weight. “Reliable. Classic.”

“It’s a desk, not a boyfriend resume.”