Chapter 1
The heat was ridiculous, that kind of end-of-August swelter that made you wonder if the pavement was about to start bubbling. I tugged at the hem of the coral sundress I’d just tried on, staring at myself in the cramped dressing room mirror. Not bad, I thought, twirling a little to see how it flowed. The color popped against my skin—flattering my curves in all the right ways. This dress practically screamed summer fertility goddess.
“Hey, Michael!” I called out, louder than necessary. Partly because the shop was busy, but mostly because Michael hadn’t looked up from his phone in the last half hour.
No response. Not even a “be right there.”
I stepped out of the dressing room, posing for dramatic effect. One hand on my hip, the other brushing through my hair. “What do you think?”
He glanced up, just for a second, and I caught that obligatory, half-smile thing he did. “Uh, yeah, looks nice.”
Nice? That’s what I get? I’m out here looking like I belong on the cover of a fashion magazine, and all I get is nice? I narrowed my eyes at him. “Seriously? That’s it? I’m wearing the perfect sundress and I can’t even get a real opinion?”
He didn’t even bother to look up again. His thumbs were flying over his screen, and I could already tell that whoever was texting him—probably his sous chef—was going to get more attention than me. “Yeah, babe. You look great.”
I bit my tongue before saying something that would turn into a full-on argument in the middle of this generic strip mall boutique. I mean, how hard was it to say something more than great? I wasn’t asking for a Shakespearean sonnet, just a little acknowledgment, for crying out loud.
I turned back into the dressing room, half-tempted to throw the sundress in the return pile just because Michael clearly couldn’t care less about it. But the dress wasn’t the problem—it was perfect. He was the problem.
Just like the line of men before him for the last few years. You make it to forty, take care of yourself, rock your career, and you still come in second place to a rectangle with a touch screen.
Yanking the sundress off, I reached for my next pick: a bold red jumpsuit that I already knew was going to turn heads. Not his, though. He was too busy with whatever mini-crisis was happening back at the kitchen. Fourth outfit, same reaction. Or, more like, non-reaction.
I could feel the irritation bubbling up, like it always did when I found myself putting in the effort while the guy I was with couldn’t even be bothered to try.
I zipped up the jumpsuit in record time, slipping back out without even glancing in his direction. The decision was instant, so I took it back off.
“I’m getting this one,” I said, making a beeline for the checkout counter. I might as get the one I loved since he had no valuable input.
Michael finally looked up from his phone as the cashier scanned the tag and stuffed it in a bag. “Yeah? Sure, looks good.”
I rolled my eyes. “What color is it?”
He blinked, stuffing his phone in his pocket like that was going to help now. “What?”
“Uh-huh.” I swiped my card and grabbed the shopping bag, biting back the thousand things I wanted to say. It wasn’t the time. Not yet. “Nevermind, Michael,” I said flatly, already heading for the door.
Michael followed me out of the shop like nothing was wrong, like his constant texting wasn’t driving me insane.
As we stepped outside, the heat hit me like a wall. I squinted against the bright sunlight, annoyed that my hair was starting to frizz again. Michael trailed behind me, shuffling along like I was dragging him out of a dungeon.
“I thought we were going to grab lunch at my restaurant around the corner?” he said, sounding more like a kid who lost his favorite toy than a grown man in a relationship.
I stopped, turning to face him, my hands on my hips. “You can go if you want. I’ve got better things to do than sit around while you head to the kitchen and make me sit at the table by myself.”
His brows furrowed, and for a moment, I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. But the irritation bubbling in my chest was too loud to ignore.
“What do you mean?” he asked, confusion lining his features.
I rolled my eyes. “I mean, I’m not about to chase you down for your attention. I’ve got things I want to do with my life, and it doesn’t involve constantly waiting for you.”
There was a long pause where he opened his mouth and closed it again, probably scrambling for something—anything—that would keep me from walking away. But I could see it clearly now: the effort I’d been putting in was a waste. I wasn’t here to play second fiddle. To move forward together, we had to leave work at work.
“Come on. It’s just lunch,” he said, but his voice was flat, lacking any real urgency. “It’s one afternoon, Pepper. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”
I shook my head, feeling a rush of clarity wash over me. “No, Michael, it is a big deal. I’m not some backup plan. You’re either all in or you fold.”
His expression shifted, and I could see the realization creeping in and with it, the cruel words building up. I wasn’t going to stick around for another round of lukewarm dinners and half-hearted compliments. I wanted more than this half-assed relationship.
“I’m done,” I said, my tone firm, leaving no room for negotiation. “You can cook your lunch and eat it, too. I’ve got better things to do with my time.” I then let loose a string of expletives that probably were better reserved for my college days.
I turned away, not looking back as I made my way toward the car. The irritation that had been simmering in me felt lighter now.
Michael’s voice seemed to chase after me like a wobbly cloud. “Yeah, well, don’t expect anyone else to put up with your crap. You know why you’re still single? It’s because you—”
I flipped him the bird and kept walking.
