Page 49 of Not Your Valentine
“No,” I say automatically.
I don’t think he believes me, but he doesn’t say anything more.
Chapter 16
JASMEET: How was your trip up north, Helen?
ESTHER: Yeah, how was it?
ESTHER: Are you okay? You’ve been quiet all day.
When I get home from work on Monday, I thank my neighbor for feeding my fish while I was gone, then stare at my phone. I’ll have to talk to my friends eventually, but right now, I don’t feel up to it.
I still can’t believe I’ve started falling for Taylor, and I can’t blame it entirely on his talented tongue and talented fingers.
He’s just so goddamn pure and sweet.
Ugh. Why is this happening to me? I’ve known him for years and I never felt like this, and after a few weeks of going on dates, I’m now fantasizing about him bringing me heart-shaped pancakes in bed. (He sent me a picture of said pancakes this morning.)
One thing I’ve always appreciated about Taylor is that he doesn’t consider anything a threat to his masculinity. He’s not worried that liking flowers and Valentine’s Day might not be what he’s “supposed” to do. And he’s a social worker, a field that’s probably considered more feminine.
There are lots of things that I’ve long liked about him—which is why we’ve been friends for so many years—but now everything has taken on new meaning.
I collapse face-first onto my couch, put a pillow over my head, and silently scream.
My phone buzzes. I’m convinced it’s Esther, Jasmeet, or Whitney checking up on me, but I look anyway.
TAYLOR: It’s Valentine’s tomorrow. I thought I could come over and we’d cook together?
ME: No
TAYLOR: It could be a fun bonding experience!
ME: I don’t cook well with other people. Would probably end up stabbing you with a vegetable peeler.
Hmm. Wonder if that was a bit much.
TAYLOR: You were in the kitchen with your mom when I visited.
ME: I’m used to cooking with her. I’ve been doing it for twenty-five years. She’s the only exception.
And in all honesty, my mom and I have gotten pretty close to stabbing each other.
I’m not lying: I really am bad at cooking with others. An old boyfriend once decided it would be fun to make dinner together. By the end of the evening, he’d broken up with me.
TAYLOR: Okay, I’ll come over to your place and cook for you.
ME: That’s really not necessary.
TAYLOR: I insist.
ME: Fine. As long as I clean up and get dessert.
TAYLOR: Too late. I already ordered us a special dessert.
Seriously, who is this guy? Why is he making weird things happen in my chest? How has he gotten this power over me?
I'm picturing him ordering a vanilla cake decorated with cinnamon hearts or something equally nauseating, and I’m actually charmed. Why do I enjoy it when he annoys me?
