Page 33 of Getting Over You

“I think we’re in a close enough relationship that I can call you something other than Gigi,” he counters.

“We’re not,” I say.

“When will we be?”

“Never.”

Cade chuckles. “You know, I was thinking about you saying I don’t have a heart.”

“Did I hurt your feelings?” I mock.

“No. But you made me realize that you’re right. I don’t have one.”

I blink, confused. “Okay.”

“And you do.”

“Right…” He’s drawing this out, and I don’t like it. “And you’re saying this because?”

“So, I want the girl with a heart to show me how to have one. I want you to show me the kinds of dates guys with hearts take girls on. So I have reference material.”

“You want me to… date you?”

“No,” he says. “But I want you toshow mehow to date you. Or any girl like you. In case I ever…” He looks uncomfortable,scratching at the back of his neck. “Like, if I decide to get serious someday.”

“You want me to get you ready to be Prince Charming to somebody else?” I ask.

“You’ve made it clear you don’t want me in any capacity,” he says. His brow arches, pulling his smirk up with it. “But somebody like you, who wants a perfect, gentlemanly man, might someday. I have no idea how to do that. I have no interest in it right now, probably not ever.” I fight wincing at his words. “But it’s worth knowing how.”

“I don’t know.” I bite my cheek. Flashing a grin, I say, “Entice me?”

He nods, already moving on, as if he didn’t just show a sliver of emotion. “How about I buy you a refill on that coffee?”

I nudge my empty cup toward him. “Please.”

Cade gets me a fresh coffee, and when he tells me goodbye and leaves the shop, pain tugs at my chest. I’m starting to like being with him, like who I am and how I feel when we’re together—emboldened. But every time I get excited, I remind myself that nothing can happen between us. He can’t be my Prince Charming because he has no interest in happily ever after.

I sit at Beach Brew for most of the day. In fact, when EJ comes in after a shift at the ice cream and pizza parlor, I’m surprised to see him, never dreaming that it’s time for a closing shift.

I decide to get myself one more coffee to-go. I’m waiting at the pickup counter when the overhead bell chimes. And my husband walks in. Fabio hair, a dark green beanie, dirty Chucks, wonderfully tan.

No, Gigi. Focus. Not husband. Casual date.

Whatever he will be to me, I know one thing: hewillbe with me, because I’m hot. Because I’m a woman who any man is lucky to have a connection with. And as much as I try not to, I’m imagining Cade giving me an encouraging, “That’s my girl,” as I gather the courage to speak.

“Hey,” I say to the guy when he makes his way to the pickup counter.

“Hi,” he says. “How’s your day?”

“It’s been good. I’ve been here most of the day. Yours?”

“It’s good,” he says. “Just taking a break from my studio.”

“Are you a tattoo artist?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Just a regular artist.”

I’ve been spending too much time around Cade to default to tattoos. “My friend is, too. He does tattoos.”What the fuck, Gigi?

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