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Buck slammed the dough ball onto the countertop, kneading all his feelings into it.
“You’re not going to be dense,” Buck told it. “Your gluten is going to be well developed. You’re going to bake beautifully, or I’ll toss you out the window. Got it?”
Valentine’s Day was the worst.
Of course, he had to run into his ex at the grocery store. Tommy had been with someone. Standing in front of the bouquets, the (attractive!) guy had put his hand on Tommy’s shoulder, squeezing, jostling him a little. Had said something that made him crinkly smile.
Buck wasn’t proud of what he’d done—backing away and fleeing, fast—but at least he hadn’t cried in the floral section.
-
Tommy had dressed up. He’d shaved, moisturized, styled his hair, and sprayed cologne. He no longer looked like the hollow shell of a man on the outside, though he still felt like one on the inside.
(Sal had threatened to burn the Old Navy sweatsuit and Uggs, which had become his go-to since he’d broken up with Evan.)
Tommy grabbed the biggest bouquet of roses off the shelf and inspected the petals, his smile fading. Were grocery store flowers really adequate?
Would Evan even want them, or would he throw them in the garbage?
“What if he already moved on?” Tommy said. “He probably has a date tonight.”
Which would be fine. Even if it made Tommy's insides curdle to think of Evan dating someone else. And why he'd been completely avoiding social media. Ignorance was bliss when he could keep his mind busy enough not to imagine different scenarios. Hypocritical, he knew, since he was the one who'd shoved Evan in that direction.
“Nah.” Sal turned towards him. “Quit being a fuckin’ mook, Tom. You really wanna give up? According to Wilson, he ain’t over you. And even if he is on a date, so what? Crash it.”
That was absolutely terrible advice. But—
“Wilson said that?” Tommy had to restrain himself from asking for more details. What else did she say? How is he?
Sal gave him a look like he knew exactly what Tommy was thinking. “Yeah, she did. So, go for the grand gesture. Get on your knees if you’ve gotta. Suck it up and beg for him back, and then suck—”
“Finish that sentence, and I’ll shove these down your throat. The thorns won’t play nice.”
Sal laughed. “Alright, tough guy. I’m just sayin'. Don’t wait until it’s too late.” He lifted a delicate pastel purple arrangement off one of the displays. “Gina goes nuts for the tulips.”
-
Tommy stood in front of Evan’s door. In his arms were the roses, a box of chocolates and an overpriced teddy bear with glossy blue eyes. It was holding a heart with curly embroidery that said Will You Be Mine?
That was probably overkill. He really hoped the answer would be yes, though. Or maybe. Maybe would be okay, too.
Tommy’s palms were so sweaty they were almost slipping on the cellophane. His heart was pounding. He couldn’t feel his face.
Sal was right.
He hated being afraid. He hated being vulnerable. He didn’t want his heart broken. But he had to stop trying to predict the outcome. Had to stop assuming Evan's feelings before he'd even had them. He had to give it a shot, or he would regret it for the rest of his life.
Taking a long, deep breath, Tommy knocked.
And waited.
When Evan opened the door, he was covered in flour. His apron was askew, and his hair was a mess of curls, like he'd been tugging on them. His eyes were bluer than ever. He looked irritated, splotches of red coloring his cheeks, but his face went completely slack as soon as he registered Tommy.
"Hi, Evan," Tommy said, giving him a soft smile.
"Hi," Evan said, breathless.