Page 112 of For the Plot
Friday morning, the groceries arrive. Just a week’s worth of her staples: coconut yogurt, sourdough bread, oat milk, that overpriced vegan mac and cheese she swears is “basically therapy.” Even the weird protein bars she thinks taste like candy but smell like cardboard.
Everything bagged and delivered with zero fanfare. There’s a note tucked between the almond butter and the raspberries.
You once told me your fridge made you sad. Thought I’d help with that.
–R
Still nothing. But I’m not discouraged.
The gym membership is next.
I call the place she used to love, the one she had to cancel when she got laid off and said she couldn’t afford it any longer. Idon’t ask for anything elaborate. Just a quiet reactivation and a note added to her account:
Paid in full. No expiration. Courtesy of a man who listens.
The peonies arrive on Sunday. Not roses. She said they were trying too hard. No apology card. No dramatic message. Just her favorite flower in her favorite shade. Soft. Beautiful. Intentional. Like her.
By the time the week ends, I’m a wreck. Not because she’s ignoring me. But because I’mfeelingagain.
Every day without her touch is a quiet burn beneath my skin. Every gesture I send feels like a piece of me placed gently at her feet with nothing but hope.
I’m learning what it means toearnsomeone. Not because I want the win. But because I wanther.Not hidden. Not broken. Not stolen in the dark. But whole. And mine. Andwilling.
I don’t know if I’ve done enough yet. But I know I’ll keep going.
Chapter 27
Skye
“He’s got you glowing,” Maya says, squinting at me over her steaming chai latte.
I pause mid-bite, yogurt-dipped spoon hovering in the air like a white flag. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” She waves the mug toward me. “You’ve got that post-orgasm glow. Which is suspicious, considering you haven’t been getting any.”
I glare. “Wow. Bold accusation.”
“Bold but not wrong.”
I stuff the spoon in my mouth and shrug.
She sets her drink down with a thud. “Skye. You’re smiling. Like all the time. You’re humming in the kitchen again. You lit a candle last night thatwasn’tpart of a spiritual cleansing ritual. And I saw you check the hallway three times yesterday before your coffee arrived.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“Maybe I thought it was going to be late. People get murdered over late coffee.”
She narrows her eyes. “You were hoping he delivered it himself.”
I roll mine dramatically. “Okay, detective.”
Maya crosses her arms. “You’ve been glowing since he sent the first text. And now it’s just… escalating.”
I want to argue. I do. But the thing is… she’s not wrong. I have been smiling more. Humming. Daydreaming. Not because I’m delusional enough to think things are fixed. But because he is trying and I am falling all over again.
The text. The gestures. The gym membership. The peonies.
