The Love Coupon (Stubborn Hearts 2)

“I should’ve just said I want to come on your tits.”

“Tom.”

“Fuck.”

“I loved it.”

“I could do—”

He was going to say better and that made all the sugar bittersweet. There was no time left for better, so she talked over him. “I have to go. I’ll see you tonight.”

By the time she left the office for the last time, Flick’s emotions were strung out like soft toffee. So many goodbyes and well wishes, and promises to stay in touch. Tom’s empty apartment felt like a sanctuary after all the fuss and then it felt like something she still had to pack in one of her stuffed suitcases, excess baggage.

What he’d done last night, today, there was cruelty in it. He should’ve left it alone. Not made it so difficult. They were over and there was no reason to try to make them into something they were never going to be. It was thirty coupons in thirty days. It was “Happy Birthday and now it’s time to go.” It was Flick’s mostly packed life and being homeless for real and Tom’s apartment ready to be restored to its designer glory without her clutter.

There were only three coupons left, lined up on the coffee table, and he hadn’t chosen one this morning: the activity of his choice, afternoon delight and the one he was avoiding—tearing her clothes off before sex.

And there was nothing like a little confrontation to remind them both they were finished here but for blowing out the candles, let me help you with your bags, and a final kiss goodbye.

With his new playlist on, she pulled a suitcase apart to find what she needed. A slip that already had a tear where the lace had broken away from the front. She’d never gotten around to the few stitches it would take to repair it.

A snip with a pair of scissors down the centerline seam made the tear more obvious, more helpful. Tom had come home to her puttering around the apartment in a slip before, so this wouldn’t look like a setup to him. She wore it without underwear.

He came in when Sia was singing “We Can Hurt Together.” He knew these songs now, could sing the refrain and hum the melodies. He put his satchel, suit coat and a shopping bag down and came straight for her. “How was it?”

He meant her last day. He meant for her to come into his arms, but she put the kitchen counter between them, deliberately and obviously. “It was fine. I’m glad it’s done. Time to move on.”

He frowned, caught short with his arms open for that welcome-home hug she’d come to crave. Caught out by the sharpness of her tone and the curt response.

“You must be hungry.”

“Not especially. Big lunch.”

He pulled the knot of his tie undone, yanking at it. “I fucked up with the dirty talk, didn’t I? I knew I shouldn’t have cal

led your office line. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

He made it hard to stay irritated with him. “You didn’t fuck that up.”

“But I don’t get a hug.”

“I leave in two days.”

“You don’t think I know that?” He balled the tie in his fist and shoved it in his pants pocket.

“I don’t know, do you? You act as if we’re not about to drive off a cliff.”

“Flick, it’s...” He undid more buttons and pulled his shirt from his pants. He was tamping his temper down. “You made the coupons. You set the agenda. You don’t want to talk about seeing each other after you leave. I’m sticking to the plan.”

“Those things you said today, they weren’t part of a coupon. That’s not the plan. The plan for you was not to fall in love. And today, that didn’t sound like goodbye.”

His shirt was undone all the way now. He always went to the bedroom to change unless they were fooling around, and there was no fooling in this. “You want me to spend the weekend saying goodbye?”

“That’s where we’re at.”

“Let’s just—” He went to rebutton his shirt and stopped. He paced one way, then the other. “I went to the market. I’ll cook.” He’d hide in his comfort zone.

“I’m not hungry.” The aching pit in the bottom of her stomach was despair.