Page 74 of In a Pinch

Looking from the stack of shit in my lap and back to Isla, I ask, “Care to explain why you just handed me this?”

She sits down on the couch and adjusts her pink robe. “We’re going to come up with a Win Your Boyfriend Back Plan.”

“I’m sorry, what?” It’s late and my brain is fried.

She points to the stack of items I’m now readjusting. “You heard me. We’re going to brainstorm ideas on ways for you to make up being a turd nugget to your boyfriend.”

“Turd nugget?” What an interesting choice of words.

She shakes her head and sticks her chin out at me. “Do you prefer bitch?”

“I prefer neither, actually. But fine.” Picking up the pen, I twirl it in my fingers.

We stare at each other, and then the paper, and then each other again. We’re realizing that neither of us have good ideas on how to turn this shit storm around.

Setting the pen down, I rub my hands down my face and groan. “Why is this so hard?”

“Probably because you are usually the dumper, not the dumped.”

“He didn’t dump me. We just got in a fight. It’s different.” Panic rises in me when I realize that maybe he did dump me. My mind goes through the conversation, trying to find a place where he said it was over. He didn’t, but that doesn’t mean he won’t.

“Okay, first idea. A love letter with apologies strung throughout.” I write it on the paper, and then hand the pen to Isla, assuming we are going to take turns.

“That’s lame as hell, but okay. Um, I feel like you need to make a big, grand gesture. Like, show up to his work and profess your undying love.” She grabs the book and paper and scribbles it down.

“Yeah, you’re done coming up with ideas.” I rip the list and pen from her hands. “He would die of mortification, and then there would be no relationship to be saved.”

“Well, your love letter was equally dumb.” She crosses her arms and feigns annoyance.

“Okay, let’s get back on track. Grand gesture. But it needs to be private.” Tapping the pen to my lip, I stare off into space. I have to give guys more credit because this whole groveling and fixing shit is rough. I should send an apology letter to the past men I’ve dated and broken up with for dumb reasons. Though, they probably weren’t kicking themselves for ruining it. In fact, they were probably out celebrating that my crazy ass was out of their hair.

Okay, seriously, I need to focus. I think of things he loves. Things we love together. I love taking long rides on his bikealong the coast. I love watching reruns of sitcoms on my tiny ass TV while we curl up on my bed. I love spending time with him in the kitchen, baking bread or cinnamon rolls while he cooks us dinner. I love how safe and secure he makes me feel, like I am perfect just the way I am. I love that when I have a terrible day, I know he will be there with a hug and something yummy to make up for it. Gah, I just really fucking love him.

It hits me then. “Okay, so, this isn’t a grand gesture, but it will definitely mean something.”

“You sure you don’t want to go big or go home?” She eyes me warily. In her defense, I wouldn’t trust my instincts either right now.

Putting the pen, book, and paper down on the coffee table, I turn to Isla. “In this case, I think it needs to be more of a close-to-home hit than a big hit.” And I know just the thing.

“Yeah, that makes no sense at all, but we will roll with it. Anything I can do to help?” She perks up with that.

“No, I think I can cook this one up myself. But thank you. And for being here.”

She pulls me in again. “Want to watch trashy television?”

Turning my head to look at her, without giving up my hug, I say, “Um, duh.Real HousewivesorThe Bachelorreruns?”

“The Bachelor,” we both say and laugh.

We snuggle up on the couch. The ache inside my chest is still screaming, but at least I’ve got a plan. I’m going to make it up to him. This will get better. It has to.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Sam

The sound of knocking fills the apartment. I groan and pull myself out of bed. Can’t a man wallow in peace?

My feet walk across the cold concrete floor, a reminder that I really need a rug. That reminder makes me think of Addie and how she’d complain every morning that her cold feet didn’t need the floor to be cold, too. What a fucking mess. It’s been, like, seven hours without her, and I’m already back to being a grouchy ass.

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