Page 99 of Never Your Valentine

I’m going to win Annabelle back.

I never thought I’d be a man who chased someone, but up until today, I didn’t think I was capable of love, either. I didn’t want to admit it, not even to myself, but I love Annabelle. I’ve been in love with her for a long time.

“June?” I ask.

She’s immediately at my side. “What do you need?”

“Can you run The Break for a few days?”

“Of course. Get some rest.”

“I don’t need rest,” I say. “I need to see Annabelle. If I can find her. Do you know where she is?”

June rolls her eyes. “Like she doesn’t FaceTime me every day? She’s in Ann Arbor. Duh.”

I map it out in my head. Over the bridge and across the whole Lower Peninsula. It will take the better part of a day to get to her. No matter. I’m going. And I’m bringing her tiered tray with me.

I go behind the front counter and get the box that holds the broken pieces. I sit at a table and start unpacking it.

“Hold up,” June says. “That’s my project.”

“Not anymore. Pass me the E6000, will you?”

June hands me the glue along with tweezers and a can of compressed air to get the dust off. My dad sits on one side of me, telling me to sort the pieces by size, while my mom sits on the other side, clapping her hands and saying how much she enjoys puzzles.

I lift my head and regard my messy, meddling, wonderful family. “I have to do this myself,” I say. “But I appreciate the help, and I love you for it.”

That word is getting easier to say.

I can’t wait to say it to Annabelle.

Chapter 41

Annabelle

Thursday morning, I’m sitting at Kat’s kitchen table. I’ve got my drawing tablet connected to my laptop, and I’m gripping my stylus hard enough to crack it. I’ve erased the same line six times.

Kat walks in from the bedroom, on a phone call. “If she cut her own bangs at two in the morning, there’s nothing I can do. I’m a stylist, not a grief counselor.” She listens while pouring coffee. “Sure. Put her in the books for six weeks from now.”

She hangs up and sits across the table from me, coffee in hand, hair in a messy bun, sweatshirt with the neckline cut out and falling off one shoulder. “Is that the same circle you were drawing yesterday?”

“It’s a wreath.” I scrub it out again.

“Is aggressive deleting the new drawing?”

“This used to be easy.” I stand to refill my coffee cup. “Ideas were everywhere. A trip to the zoo would turn into a whole series. I had a mechanic who accidentally gave me three Father’s Day cards.”

“Isn’t that the answer? You need to get out more. Talk to people.”

“I guess.” I stir creamer into my coffee. Kat’s words remind me of Sophie telling me to get out in the Michigan winter. I wonder what she’s doing today. Did she find that pair of wool socks that went missing? I bet Lia’s enjoying the new tea she bought. I hope the sofa that June and Dylan ordered arrives soon and fits perfectly in their living room.

I put my spoon in the dishwasher. I cleaned Kat’s kitchen last night. I scrubbed the bathroom this morning. I folded my blankets and tucked them into the storage ottoman with my pillow, leaving no trace.

“I don’t live here,” I say.

Kat leans back in her chair. “Correct. This is my house. You’re haunting it.”

“It’s not about the house.” I sit at the table and look into my cup. “It’s Ann Arbor. I forgot what it’s like. The self-importance. The maize and blue everything. The students.”