Page 178 of Mr. Infuriating

One: You were right. My kitchen looks incredible. Better than I could have ever imagined. Thank you.

Two: That was really thoughtful to send me some groceries.

BUT

You can’t keep taking care of us.

My first instinct was,Wanna bet?But I knew she was right. Still, I wasn’t going to apologize for it.

Me: I just wanted to make sure you had something for dinner and breakfast. You’ve been gone from your house a while.

Gretchen: I know, but you didn’t have to do that. We would have figured something out.

Me: Well, now you’ve got choices.

Just say “thank you,” sweetheart and go make Jake dinner.

Gretchen: Thank you.

Fuck, I missed them already, and it hadn’t been more than ninety minutes since she left my house.

I was so screwed.

I needed a damn drink.

Chapter Seventy-Five

Gretchen

A box of pancake mix was included in the Instacart delivery that Gabe had sent over. I guess he wanted to make sure Jake got pancakes in the morning, even if he wasn’t going to be the one to make them.

After tossing and turning all night, in between bouts of tears, I finally gave up on sleep and got up before the alarm. Jake’s breakfast routine was going to be continued.

Except my pancakes didn’t taste the same as Gabe’s, and Jake only ate half of his.

Nothing was the same.

Instead of sleeping soundly all night, I hardly slept at all. Jake didn’t dance happily in his chair as he munched on his pancake. I didn’t leave the house relaxed, with plenty of time to spare because I had someone helping me.

In fact, I was late for work and forgot my damn lunch, and I probably passed my stressful mood onto my kid and students.

I was grateful to Gabe, though.

He’d shown me what life with a good partner could be like. Now I just needed to find said partner.

I knew that was going to be easier said than done. The Gabe Mitchells of the world were a rare breed. I had a feeling I was going to have to settle for close enough.

Jake was quiet in the backseat as I drove home from daycare. I knew he missed Gabe as much as I did.

“Hey, baby…” I said as I looked at him in my rearview mirror. “What do you say we get McDonald’s for dinner tonight? You can have a Happy Meal!”

Yeah, I was bribing my kid to be happy with a Happy Meal.

I know, cliché.

If only they had Happy Meals for adults.

“They do,” Laura said with a laugh when I lamented my pathetic life observation to her on the phone after Jake went to bed. “It’s called wine.”

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