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This is an all-new low for me. In six days, I’ve hit rock bottom twice, and if Harlow Jane is in my life, there may be no end in sight—unless I can win her heart.
The garage door opens, and the sound of footsteps makes me plaster my back against a nearby wall. I hold the box of pastries against my chest, and the fragrant scent of blueberries wafts into my nose. My stomach rumbles with hunger. I should have eaten something. Starvation makes me grumpier than usual, and I don’t need to approach this situation half-cocked.
“Thanks for breakfast. You always make the best pancakes.”
My heart sinks as I listen to the gruff, baritone voice of Harlow’s new lover. How could she do this to me? Did I stink? Was our lovemaking unsatisfying?
“You deserve it, Robby.” Harlow’s giggle feels like a knife to my chest. “You know how much I love your work.”
Robby?
My heart shatters, and my soul leaves my body. I’m nothing but an empty husk, doomed to walk the earth alone.
Afraid to look, I hang back and stew, cursing under my breath as she compliments his work. Are they so close that they’ve resorted to using cute code words? I let her call me Papa. Did that mean nothing to her?
You know you made her, jackass.
Overcome with emotions and overwhelmed by the loss of the first and only woman I’ve ever loved, I peer past the wall and spot fucking Robby. He's roughly my height with the solid body of a linebacker. Sporting a full beard, he’s dressed in blue jeans and a tight black t-shirt that boasts a wall of muscles. Is that what she’s into?
I try to slink away. I’m in a pitiable state, cast off and rejected after one magical night. Logic tells me to run away. There’s no sense ruining what little friendship remains. But I can’t. It may be for nothing, but she needs to know how I feel and how much she’s hurt me.
Am I looking for pity? Perhaps. I’m so desperate for her love, I’ll try anything.
“Pancakes!” I yell, storming toward her with the box of pastries under my arm. I could have said so many other things, but my hunger latched onto that, and I ran with it.
Harlow’s eyes grow as big as saucers, and her cheeks turn bright pink.
“Felix? What on earth are you doing here?” she stammers, confusion written all over her face.
“I came to surprise you. I didn’t expect to find you’d already moved on to someone else. I love you, Harlow. How could you throw me away so callously?” To my utter dismay, my eyes well with tears. This is unprecedented. I haven’t cried since childhood.
“Moved on?” She looks at Robby and then at me. Robby, then me. Is she having trouble deciding which one she wants?
She shakes her head and folds her arms over her chest, tapping her foot like an angry school teacher. “Felix Mercer, what’s gotten into you? This is Robby, my contractor. He's finishing the extra-large cat shed and catio I’m building for my rescues. I told you last night over dinner.”
“You did not,” I answer confidently while searching my mind for any memory of her bringing this up.
“I did, too!” she asserts, stomping her foot. “Don’t you remember? You replied with,"What's a catio?”
Shame devours me. I did ask about the catio. How could I forget?
“Was that today?” My shoulders sink, and I cast my eyes to the ground, too embarrassed to look her in the eye. Without looking up, I march toward her and hand her the box of blueberry muffins. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
While we stand a foot apart, glaring at one another, Harlow with anger and me with remorse, Robby finally breaks his silence. “Holy shit, are youtheFelix Mercer? I love your books, man. I have everything you ever wrote.” Robby pats me on the back and extends his hand.
I take my eyes off Harlow long enough to shake it.
“I’m going to head to the backyard and get to work. It was great meeting you, Felix. Thanks for breakfast, Harlow.” Robby waves as he walks away and leaves Harlow and me standing in the driveway, unsure of where to go from here.
I inhale a shaky breath and step forward. “Sorry, baby. I assumed the worst, and I was wrong. You make me crazy. I stayed up half the night worried about our last words, spinning in circles, interpreting them a hundred different ways.”
Harlow huffs and tosses her long hair over her shoulder. “Our last words were goodnight and sleep well. How did you turn that into something sinister?”
“Baby, I’m a writer. I have a vivid imagination, and although it’s helped my career, occasionally, it gets me into trouble in real life,” I sigh, my muddled voice heavy with regret.
Harlow brings the box to her nose and takes a generous whiff. “Are these blueberry muffins? Are they fresh?” She doesn’t wait for an answer and heads into her house through the garage.
I nod and follow her with my tail tucked between my legs. “They were made fresh this morning.”
