Page 17 of The Birthday List (Maysen Jar 1)

“Damn it. Not tonight.” I shook my head, parked my black truck on the street and stepped out just as she was coming through the front door with a box in her arms.

“Hey,” Aly said, walking down the steps from the porch.

I crossed the short sidewalk and met her by her car. “Hey.”

“Sorry. I was trying to be gone before you got home.”

“It’s okay. Here, let me help.” I reached out and lifted the box from her arms.

“Thanks.” She opened the back door of her car and I set the box inside. When I stood, she was twisting my house key off her chain. “Here you go.”

Our fingers brushed when I took it from her hand, but I didn’t get even a minor jolt. Touching Aly, the woman I’d dated for two years and lived with for six months, wasn’t anything compared to the touch I’d felt earlier with Poppy.

It cemented the decision I’d made last week. Breaking up with Aly hadn’t been easy, but it had been right.

“Cole.” She stepped closer, looking up at me with pleading eyes. The same eyes that she used whenever she wanted me to fuck her senseless.

“No, Aly.” I stepped back. “We both know that would just make this harder.”

Her shoulders tensed as she backed away. “Harder for me, you mean? Because you’re just fine. One week after we’re broken up and you’re back to normal. Like the last two years together meant nothing. Meanwhile, I’m living in my sister’s guest room, crying myself to sleep every night.”

“I’m—”

“Sorry. I know.” She slammed the car door closed and spun on her heel as she rounded the hood. She threw open the driver’s door but paused, looking at me from over her car. Then she waited.

“Take care of yourself, Aly.”

She huffed, then got in the car and backed out of the driveway, wiping tears off her cheeks.

I waited for her car to disappear down the street before going inside. Standing in my living room, I swept my eyes across the furniture. The toss pillows were gone. Aly had taken those, along with the throw blanket she had always used when we were watching TV.

I fucking hated that I’d hurt her. She was a good woman, just not the one for me. After two years, I’d never felt like she was the one. I’d never pictured asking her to marry me. Not once. We’d been on and off for our first year and a half together, but then she’d lost her roommate and moved in with me. Even after six months of Aly telling me she loved me, I’d never felt compelled to say it back.

I made my way to the kitchen for a beer, and as I opened the refrigerator door, my phone rang. I tugged it out of my pocket and pressed it between my cheek and shoulder. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, sweetie. How are you?”

“I’m good.” Or at least I was. The fridge was empty. Aly had taken all of my beer too. Damn it. Who took a man’s beer? That was just mean. She didn’t even drink beer—which I should have taken as a sign.

“I was calling to see if you and Aly could come over for dinner tomorrow. We haven’t seen you both in weeks.”

“I see Dad almost every day.”

“That doesn’t count. I haven’t seen you both in weeks.”

I took a deep breath and shut the door to the fridge. Mom was going to be pissed that I’d broken it off with Aly. She’d had her hopes up for a wedding and grandkids. “Mom, listen. Aly and I broke up.”

“What?” she gasped. “When?”

“Last week,” I muttered and braced.

“Last week!” she shrieked. “Why didn’t you call to tell me? Is she okay? Where is she going to live?”

“With her sister until she can find a new place. She’s hurt but it was for the best.”

“And how are you?”

“Fine, but I feel like an asshole.”