Chin Up, Buttercup

Elena tears through the living room like a woman possessed, flipping cushions and rifling drawers for her goddamn phone. Sweat beads on her forehead, her breath ragged. That's when Nate strolls in, holding the missing device like some smug knight in khakis. 'Left it in the kitchen, kiddo,' he says with that easy grin. She snatches it, thanks him quick, and scrolls hungrily for notifications. Nothing. Zilch. Her face crumples—two days silent from her boyfriend, and today of all days, Valentine's. 'What did I screw up?' she whispers, voice cracking like thin ice. Nate slides closer, drapes an arm around her shoulders. 'Chin up, Buttercup,' he murmurs, his touch lingering just a beat too long. He spills how his wife's been ghosting him too, buried in work. 'Why don't we make our own Valentine's? You and me.' Elena perks up, eyes lighting. 'Sounds fun.' He nods, promises to crank it to eleven, make it unforgettable. They sink into the couch for a sappy romantic flick—her big plan with the boyfriend, now dust. But the screen's glow twists the knife; every kiss on film echoes the love she thought was real, before he vanished. Tears streak her cheeks. Nate seizes the moment, his hand grazing her thigh, then her arm—innocent pats, he tells himself, pure comfort. He pulls out a velvet box of chocolates, presents it like forbidden fruit. She pops one in, licks her lips slow, savoring the sweet melt. Nate watches, transfixed, a hungry glint in his eye that screams predator in the shadows. 'What else was on the agenda with him?' Nate probes, voice low and coaxing. Elena hesitates, cheeks flushing hot. 'Can't do it with just anyone.' She squirms, finally blurts it: she was gonna surrender her virginity, hand it over like a gift unwrapped. Shock hits her like a slap when Nate leans in. 'I could do that for you.' Her eyes widen, but he barrels on, smooth as sin. 'Boyfriend bailed, didn't he? Better lose it to someone solid, someone you trust. And who trusts you more than your old man here?'