“I think I’ve overdosed on rocky road.” Mel sits back on the couch and rubs her stomach like she’s carrying her ice cream to term.

“That’s crazy talk. There’s never too much ice cream.” To emphasize, I dig my spoon into the container and take another glorious bite. My stomach grumbles in response because, yes, this is enough ice cream to feed the entire east coast of Florida. When in a deep spiral of rage, my favorite freezer food is my go-to item. Mel’s just along for the ride and tapping out.

She shifts on the couch, continuing to massage her stomach. “I hate to be a buzzkill, but have you thought about what you’re going to do about a job?”

I reach across her and grab my glass of wine. Because nothing goes better with regret than ice cream washed down with a good red.

The second I told my parents about my job status, they offered to put me on the next plane to Virginia, but I told them no. Even though I went back on a promise to them, I kept thinking about what Reid said. That I’m not my parents. That I don’t have to live the life they’ve planned out for me. I intend to repay every penny they put toward college, but it’ll be on my terms. It felt wrong to go back on a promise to them, but then again, moving away to work at a job I know will be miserable doesn’t seem like a great option either. My mom hung up on me and hasn’t taken my calls since.

“No clue. Don’t care at the moment. All I care about is finding more chocolate chunks.” I continue my search in the half-melted goop in my bowl.

This is pretty much how every night has gone since I got fired from On Tap. You know it’s serious when I’ve busted out the sweatpants. My waist hasn’t felt the presence of a button or zipper in over two weeks, and it’s been glorious. Who needs the potential of a boyfriend and a good job when I have my trusty sweats?

A knock sounds on the door.

“You gonna get that?” I say, because a) I’m nice and comfy in my spot on the couch, and b) the thought of seeing anyone other than Mel is about as appealing as stepping foot in On Tap again. It was bad enough I had to go back the day after being fired to pick up my final check. Even more embarrassing were the pitying glances people sent my way. I can spend the rest of my life on the couch, right? According to my bank account, I have at least six more months until it’s a dire situation.

Mel shoots me a look. “I think you need to. You could use some contact with the outside world.”

I glare but get off the couch. Probably a good idea to move my legs, anyway, because I don’t really want to become one of those cautionary tales that people tell high school kids. Oh, you think you’re invincible? Did you hear about that Callie girl who sat on the couch too long and died of blood clots that went straight to her lungs? Poor girl. She was found clutching a melted bowl of ice cream in one hand and a remote control in the other.

Yeah…I’ve maybe gone a touch past pathetic and am now teetering in the deranged category.

My legs ache, and I realize I haven’t moved from the camp I’d made on the couch in far longer than I’d imagined.

“This better be my Chinese takeout,” I grumble to Mel.

Instead of the delivery guy, the one guy I’d just told to screw off stands in my doorway.

The sight of him—his eyes imploring me, filled with enough angst to overshadow a middle school dance—is too much. I’m not ready for this.

“What are you doing here?” I demand.

Reid’s hand flies up to the back of his neck, and he at least has the decency to look remorseful. “I know I shouldn’t be here.”

“You’re damn right.” I move to shut the door in his face, but he plants his foot against the wood, stopping me mid-swing.

“Give me just a minute. Please.” He looks at me with those deep-brown eyes, and dammit, I don’t have enough fight in me to turn him away when he wants to explain something. It must be the blood clots.

“You have one minute.”

“Okay, I’ll make it quick then. I quit On Tap.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, and I can tell this is uncomfortable for him. As it should be. He has some nerve to come here after the bullshit he pulled at the bar.

“Why? You were their new manager. I thought you’d be more than happy about that.” Ugh. I hate how bitter I sound. It wasn’t even my dream job, but it still irks me because I’ve never been fired. This has been a month of firsts. First time opening my heart to a guy, first time getting it stomped on, first time losing my job because of him.  

“It wasn’t right how Tom treated you. I should have been fired, too.”

“Such a martyr. Is that the game you’re playing? That you have to one-up me, even when I lose my job? This isn’t a game, Reid. This is my life.”

Sometime in the next few days, I need to search for a new job. Maybe. Or maybe I should just get it over with and call my parents.

Blood clots in my lung seem preferable to that.

His hands clench into fists, and I can tell he’s fighting to keep his cool. We always were volatile. Like pulsing a daiquiri mix in the blender without the lid.

“I came here because I wanted you to know I’m starting a new business venture. I want to open a small brew shop that will serve specialty taps, a small menu of food, and possibly wine.”

“That’s great, Reid. So happy for you. Gold star for you.” I can’t help the sarcasm. I’m more bitter than those damn IPAs he loves so much.

“Would you be interested in going into business with me? I need an expert on wine, and who better than you?”

A laugh escapes me. I can’t help it because Reid needing my help? After what he’s done? He must have hit his head because he is straight-up delusional.

His expression changes from hopeful to both eyebrows slanting toward the bridge of his nose. “It’d be fifty-fifty.”

“I don’t care what the percentage of ownership is, Reid. I would never go into business with you. You need to figure your shit out. I may be jobless, but I’m not desperate.”

His palms fly to his face, and he mutters under his breath. “Fuck. I’m just fucking everything up.” His hands fall to his sides, and I’m noticing for the first time that his eyes look red and a little puffy.  “I’m sorry, Callie. I should have started with that.”

“That would have been nicer.” But still wouldn’t have helped. If anything, Reid has taught me that it was a mistake to jump into dating again.

“I wish I could take that night back. I was an asshole and jealous as hell after seeing you with Grayson.”

“You were.” I fold my arms and lean against the doorframe. Then again, I wasn’t much better at my drunken karaoke. Not one of my finer moments.

“What can I do to make it up to you?”

“Nothing. We’re done. You did me a favor. People always show their true colors eventually. You just showed your hand earlier than others and saved me a lot of time, so thanks.”

“You can’t say that. What about the past couple of months? Those just mean nothing?”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Lies. So many lies. But what am I supposed to say? Um, yeah, you meant a helluva lot to me, and even though you had your sweet moments, you still acted like a complete jackass. And my heart can’t take any more torture.

He shakes his head. “I just can’t accept that. I know there’s something between us. I’ve never felt this way about anyone else.”

“You can think whatever you want, but I’m not changing my mind.”

“We’ll see,” he says.

“If that’s all you had to say, I’m going to shut the door now.” Before he can say anything else, I toe the edge of the door, and it swings shut.

As soon as I turn around, Mel is on me, wrapped in one of our blankets and bouncing on her toes. “Oh my God, did he come over here to win you back?”

“Yes.” I hesitate, frowning in confusion. “Well, I don’t know. He wants me as a business partner.”

“I can’t believe you told him no.”

“I’m not a doormat. He can’t just act like that and expect me to come running back to him.” No matter how much I want to.

“Just sayin’…if a guy came to my door looking that heartbroken with that sexy, broody vibe, there’d be no chance of me turning him away.”

“Guess that’s why I’m the one with better willpower.”

She sticks her tongue out at me. “C’mon, let’s go eat some more ice cream.”

* * *

The next day, the packages start arriving.

First, the UPS man drops by at a quarter after noon. He delivers a balloon attached to a thin box. The balloon reads: I deserve to be popped in the face.

Well, no question as to who this came from. The balloon made me chuckle, but I will deny that until my dying breath.  

I open the box and find a well-known vineyard label on a bottle of sparkling Riesling from one of my favorite wineries in the Pacific Northwest. The card in the package reads:

I toss the card on the table and bust out my wine opener and uncork the bottle. Damn bold gesture. Signing the damn card yours.

         “Sorry, Reid, I do not claim you as mine.” I pour a healthy amount of wine into a wine glass I grab from the cupboard and take a sip.

The bubbles dance on my tongue before the sweetness flows over my taste buds. Perfection. He’s right that this is a great wine to include in his alcohol selection. Twenty different wineries come to mind that people like my parents would line up for if Reid’s store stocked them.

Immediately, I shake off the thought from my head and continue to sip on the wine.

* * *

The following day, a blueberry wine from a vineyard in Napa is waiting for me when I get home from working out.

I don’t even bother uncorking. Instead, I go straight for the note.

And so it continues for seven days straight. On the third day, a cabernet arrives, and a merlot bursting with flavor on the fourth. The fifth and sixth are both chardonnays. Each delivery comes with a note. Each one gives a memory that we shared. And each one is signed yours.

On the seventh day, Mel beats me to the door when the postal worker knocks. He knows us by name now, and possibly thinks I have an alcohol problem.

“Are you ever going to forgive the guy? You have to admit, this shows tenacity.”

“It does.” I grab the package from her. “And no, I don’t plan on forgiving him anytime soon.”

Okay, that’s a lie. I hate grudges. They’re a total waste of good chi, so I forgave Reid the day the second bottle came. But there’s a fine line between forgiveness and stupidity. I don’t plan on crossing that one.

“What does it say?” Mel bounces on the balls of her feet and follows me into the kitchen where I grab the scissors from the counter. I haven’t even bothered to put them back after the first couple of deliveries.

“Hold your horses.” I slice through the packaging tape affixed to the box and pull out a bottle with a bright red label with the name Cupid’s Arrow. I’ve never heard of this wine or the winery based in Washington.

My hand flies to my mouth, and I drop the note on the counter. Mel swoops in and picks it up, reading quickly.

“Holy shit,” she says.

“I don’t even know what to say.”

“I do. Tell him you love him back. Go do that sappy movie thing and kiss in the rain.”

“It’s ninety degrees and sunny.”

“Your sweat can be the rain. Just roll with it.”

I scoff. “I’m not going to tell Reid I love him.”

“Why not? Don’t you?”

A million things flash through my mind in the span of a second. The rise and fall of Reid’s warm chest as I lie on him in bed. The way our eyes met across the room during bingo. The way he came to my rescue the night my parents were in town. When I’d catch him looking at me from across the bar. Those two weeks of absolute bliss when we were together. How he’d kiss me as if his life depended on it. The licks of heat and desire as he traced his tongue along the curves of my body.

This is the first time I’ve allowed myself to think these things in the swirl of gloom I’ve been stuck in ever since I shut the door in his face.

I miss him. Everything about him.

“Just sayin’. If you love the guy, I’d say something before it’s too late.”

Dammit. Mel’s right. And who knows if I’m too late.