Page 23 of Butter My Biscuit

She nods. “Too bad I’m not your type.”

“What does that mean?” I ask her, not fully understanding.

She lifts a brow. “You have a certain type of woman youalwaysgo for. Blonde. Tall. Thin. Opposite of me.”

She noticed.

“Yeah, well, you have a type you go for too … dweeby. You can do better.”

“I will, now that I have a dating coach who’s gonna teach me to have game.”

“What have I agreed to?” I shake my head.

She laughs. “You’re going to create a monster.”

I set the whiskey on the nightstand and grab the remote, then flick through the channels. “Look.”

“Aww,” she says, leaning her head against my shoulder. “I love this movie. Tom Hanks. Meg Ryan. A bookstore. The scene in the coffee shop. I need this kind of romance in my life.”

“They’re enemies,” I remind her. “Hated each other.”

“But the connection is undeniable. You can tell they care about one another. That means something.” Her words are slurring.

I’ve watched this movie with her more times than I can count over the years and have the lines memorized.

“I think it’s kinda unrealistic.”

She shakes her head. “No way. Could still happen.”

At some point, I get up and grab toilet paper so she can blow her nose, and we eat leftover pizza in bed.

We watch the movie to the end, and when Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan meet at the park, Grace bursts out crying—again. And then the credits roll.

Grace pulls the covers over her body. “Will you snuggle me again tonight? I don’t want to feel alone.”

I turn onto my side and then wrap my arm around her waist. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

“Or maybe it’s because you love me?”

“You know it.”

5

GRACE

Iwake up to an empty bed with my head pounding. The whiskey was an awful idea, but in the thick of it, drinking that much seemed like a fab idea. Right now, I have no idea what time it is and contemplate rolling over and going back to sleep until I realize the sun is up and it’s bright. When I sit up and look at my lingerie on the floor, I’m reminded of what happened yesterday.

My phone is dead on the nightstand, and I plug it in, then walk into the main area. On the counter, there’s a note with a large cup of coffee from a local shop.

Went out. Coffee is for you. Be back in an hour.

—H

I take the lid off the top, and it’s still warm. After I take a tiny sip to test the temperature, I smile. Tastes like Christmas in a cup. The same flavor he had yesterday.

As I drink my coffee, I walk to the patio door and look outside. The sun is high in the sky, and it’s bright as hell out—a total difference from yesterday’s weather. This is sunshine after darkness, and I hope that’s a metaphor for my awful dating life.

I trusted him.

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