Page 80 of The Wright Man

I leaned back against the cushions, just starting to tell him about my plans for Sister Sunday when he cut in.

"You get my gift this morning?" he asked, tone light, like we were shifting naturally into sweet talk.

I blinked at him. My stomach gave a small, preemptive twist.

Ah.

So that's why we were playing house tonight.

The flowers weren't just flowers. Of course not. They were a transaction. A silent test with only one acceptable answer.

"Yes, I did," I said, voice even but thinner than I meant it to be. "They're beautiful. Thank you."

I was already annoyed. Already feeling the walls close in again.

Gavin shifted closer on the couch, draping an arm around me like we were in the middle of a romcom instead of a marriage held together by duct tape and shared walls neither of us had the courage to knock down.

His fingers started to trace slow circles across my shoulder in a way that used to mean something. That used to be foreplay. But now it just felt like pressure.

"I ain't get a call," he murmured, dragging it out. "Ain't get a text…"

I took a long sip of my wine and set the Popeyes box down on the coffee table, appetite gone.

It was almost impressive, the way he erased history in real time.

As if he hadn't damn near shattered me less than 24 hours ago. As if his words last night hadn't sliced me down the middle and left me bleeding in the quiet.

I forced myself to keep my tone light. "I'm sorry... I just had a really busy day. Thank you, babe."

I shifted slightly, a small lean away from the weight of his arm. Not a full rejection. Just enough space to breathe.

He scooted closer.

"How 'bout we head upstairs…" he said, voice low and warm. "So you can thank me properly?"

And then his lips were on my neck—slow, soft, practiced. He found the same spot he always used to start with, just beneath my jaw, and kissed it like he was unlocking something.

Once, that touch would've unraveled me. Would've had me pulling him up the stairs by his belt loops. We used to burn like that. Wild and hungry and real.

Now I just sat there.

Still. Stiff. Confused.

This time yesterday, I'd been standing in this exact room, crying into the silence left in his wake. My heart cracked wide open while he walked away from me like I was nothing. And now I was supposed to melt because he bought me some roses and remembered how to kiss?

He couldn't even remember I hated roses.

I let out a quiet sigh, not bothering to mask it. "Gavin…" I started, voice soft but steady. "I can't tonight. I'm really tired. It's been a long day, and I haven't even showered yet."

He stilled against me, lips lifting from my skin. His hand dropped from my shoulder.

"Rain check?" I asked, careful. Gentle.

I braced myself. For the shift in his eyes. For the sharpness in his jaw. For the angry, wounded sigh he always gave right before reminding me how ungrateful I was. How cold. How I never showed him love anymore.

My heart thudded once. Then twice.

But it didn't come.