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“Shut the fuck up and eat, Valentine. You haven’t got a damn leg to stand on.”
It takes me a couple of seconds to recover. Once I can put two words together, I blurt out the first thing that pops into my head. “You have never been in a relationship on Valentine’s Day?”
“That’s what you held on to?” He takes a bite out of his muffin.
“Yeah,” I accuse. “That’s just not normal.” I open the take-out container lid. Double shit. Chocolate chip pancakes. My favorite.
“No, never.” He uses a very final tone, letting me know the case is closed. I take away his muffin. James and food. I know it’s the best way to get to him right now. We’ve played this dumb game many times before over the years.
James huffs out his frustration, nostrils flaring. “I just don’t believe in— Romantic love is, let’s just say, not for me.”
“Bullshit.” I hand him back his muffin and take a bite out of my food, stifling back a moan. Fuck, these are good.
“Excuse me?” His forehead creases in surprise.
“You heard me: bull-shit. I have it on good authority you were about to bring some girl back in college, and it was right around winter break.” I actually manage to catch him off guard, thanking my lucky stars for his Mom’s tendency to overshare. “Claudia, something or other.” James pales.
“Well, fuck, Rose. With all your experience with hearts and Cupid’s day, I’d have thought you knew better than to bring up an ex.”
“Well, fuck, James, then don’t lie to me.” He is looking at me with something besides annoyance. I think I genuinely threw him off his game. My chest is tight with a feeling I haven’t had since I saw James prancing around school, his arm hooked around a random girl’s waist, hand dipped in her back pocket. It became frequent enough to dull the sharpness of the feeling, but here it is again.
Compressing, squeezing, burning.
“Mom must have told you I never actually brought anyone. That’s your answer. We broke up just in time for the love holiday. End of story.” He is being purposefully dismissive, but there is hurt there too.
“Sorry.”
“I am not.” He sips his coffee in silence.
The quiet extends for a couple of minutes until I can’t take it anymore.
“Archer?” He looks up at me, head tilted, expectant. “How’d you know I don’t like breakfast?”
“C’mon, Rose. We lived together for three years, we have shared many meals after that. I think this is probably the second time I see you sitting here.” I lower my eyes, pretending to find the tea most intriguing. “I also know why,” he boasts, making my heart sink.
“No, you don’t.”
“Oh, but I do, buttercup.”
“Not even Dad does.”
“I’ll prove it to you. If I’m right, you’ll answer the question I have for you.” James does smug and petulant like no one else.
“Fine. If you’re wrong, you tell me what happened with—” I don’t say his ex’s name again.
“Deal.”
“Amaze me with your keen powers of observation,” I taunt.
He studies me first, choosing his words. “You don’t like breakfast because it reminds you of your mother.” Fuck. I’m frozen in my spot. James is not cruel, his tone is kind, his right hand squeezes my left one over the table.
“She worked a lot, right? Breakfast was the only meal you got to share with her, and when she left—” All I can do is nod. I can’t believe he knows this, I think that fact is getting to me more than the actual memory of my mother.
“I’m sorry, Rose.”
“It’s okay. We had a deal,” I reason.
“No,” he shakes his head, lowering it to find my eyes, “I’m sorry.”
