Page 89 of Never Your Valentine

“I shouldn’t know which coffee mug is your favorite,” I say. “I shouldn’t know how much you hate olives, or why you always fill up your truck at the Kwik Trip on US-2 instead of the Marathon station closer to town.”

I step away from the kitchen table. I end up in the living room, pacing around the card table packing station. I touch the handle of my suitcase. Roll it a few inches. Roll it back. All I can think of is, Thank goodness for Western Greetings. I’m flying across the country, away from here, just in the nick of time, before this goes any further.

Grant plates up the food, arranging it carefully, placing the syrup on the table with a flourish. “Don’t you want to eat?” he asks. “It’s getting cold.”

“I can’t do this,” I say.

Grant deflates in front of me. “It’s just pancakes.”

“It’s not,” I say miserably. “We both know it’s breakfast with an agenda.”

“Is that so bad?”

“I don’t think we’re looking for the same thing.” I pull a breath into my lungs. I’m going to say it. I’m going to come right out and say it. “I’m looking for love.”

I wait. Silence. Stillness that speaks louder than anything. It’s everything I need to know. It’s over.

Grant follows me into the living room. He stands in front of me and takes both of my hands. “I like spending time with you, and I think we’re good together. But⁠—”

“You don’t believe in this,” I finish for him. “Any of this.”

“I’m trying to show you⁠—”

“Please, stop.” I put a hand on his chest, look up at his hopeful, earnest face, his rumpled hair and barely-there beard scruff. I almost lose my nerve. But I can’t let that happen. I’ve already tried being with a man who doesn’t love me. I can’t be with one who doesn’t love at all.

I cross my arms in front of myself, putting both hands on my neck. “There’s nothing more important than loving someone and being loved in return. It’s the most powerful force in the world. And I need to be with someone who believes in love as much as I do.”

Grant grunts and backs away from me, stalking back to the kitchen. “Nobody believes in love as much as you do.”

“That’s not true.” I’ve seen it, up close. Lots of times. It’s what Nana had with Stan. It took her almost her whole life to find true love, and maybe it will take me most of mine, but I’m going to keep looking until I find it.

Grant gestures to the table. “I’m trying to give you what you want.”

“I know. But if your heart isn’t in it, breakfast doesn’t matter. You could cook me a thousand pancakes and it would never be enough.” I go back to my suitcase and grip the handle. I don’t know why I keep touching it. “I used to believe that love conquered everything, but I can’t love you enough to change you, and it’s selfish of me to try.”

“So that’s it.” Grant straightens the silverware at my place setting, lining up the fork and knife. He lifts his chin and meets my eyes. There’s disappointment there, but also a brief flash of relief. He nods once. “You’re right. If I’m only going through the motions, that’s not fair to you.”

Heaviness tumbles in on me. I step closer to Grant and he knows what I need before I do. He folds me into a warm hug. It’s not sexy. It doesn’t make my heart race. It’s not leading anywhere. It’s a hug of sadness and parting and maybe never meeting again.

“It was good while it was good,” Grant says into my hair.

“It was,” I say into his shirt. I breathe deep, trying to memorize the smell of him. “It was very good. But I have to go.”

“I know.”

We’re still hugging. It’s getting too long now, too awkward. We pull apart and suddenly, I can’t meet his eyes. “I’m not hungry,” I tell him.

“Me either. It’s too early.”

Or too late. I don’t say it out loud. Instead I say, “I’ll go get your euchre shirt.”

“Keep it,” he says as he gathers up the breakfast tray. “It doesn’t seem so lucky anymore.”

I expected the sadness. I expected the heartbreak. I expected the disappointment.

I never expected the anger. But it’s there, and it’s fierce. It thrums through my veins, hot and jagged, making my thoughts run in loops. What I did. What he did. Why this happened.

I’m not mad at Grant. None of this is his fault. He showed me who he was right up front. He showed me over and over, daring me to believe him. And what did I do instead? I tried to make him into something he’s not. How could I do that?