Chapter 27
T he universe has a sick sense of humor, I’ve decided.
Every time Reid and I have a breakthrough in our relationship, if you can even call it a relationship, we're kept apart for days or weeks.
Mr. and Mrs. Andersen are so generous to give all employees paid time off the weeks between Christmas and New Years.
Since both of us are grossly inexperienced with relationships and processing difficult emotions, maybe time apart is healthy. It fucking sucks and I miss him an unreasonable amount, but I know I need time to put myself back together after our raw confessions.
I don’t expect to hear anything from Reid, but I'm disappointed all the same when my phone remains silent. I'm just as capable of reaching out to him, but I feel like I made my feelings pretty clear between kissing him and baring my soul.
Like every year, Delilah and I spend Christmas with Olivia’s family.
We're so incredibly lucky to be treated as their adopted daughters. We’ve just finished a divine Christmas Eve dinner and are sipping hot cider in the lounge when a knock echoes at the front door.
The three of us look back and forth trying to figure out who's expecting company so late on Christmas Eve. Liv’s dad stomps down the hall muttering, “Who in the Sam-hell has the nerve to show up at this hour?”
Deep voices exchange pleasantries and then the door closes. Heavy footsteps approach the lounge, and we look up expectantly for news from Liv’s dad. But the man standing in the doorway steals the air from my lungs.
“Reid?” I gasp.
“Merry Christmas, sugar.”
The girls’ jaws might as well be dragging on the floor.
Thank goodness for my sister having some human decency, because she takes Livy by the arm and pulls her from the room.
I know it’s killing her not to hear every word we’re about to share because that girl is a slut for drama.
Lilah gives me one of those twin-looks that asks, “are you ok?” and I reply “yes” with my eyes.
As soon as they're out of hearing range, I stammer, “Oh god, please, come sit. Do you want something to drink? Are you hungry?”
“No, thanks though.” He removes his cap and runs his hands through his thick hair, taking a seat at the other end of the couch. “I won’t take up too much of your time. Just wanted to come by and give you your gift.”
It’s only then that I notice a massive shopping bag in his grip.
I don’t even pretend to play it cool. I bounce eagerly in my seat and outstretch my grabby hands.
He chuckles and hands the bag over to me.
The gifts aren’t wrapped, but the effort and sentiment behind them are more beautiful than the most expensive wrapping paper.
I pull out the gift on the top. An elated yip bursts out of me as I run my hands along a brand new, hot pink, canvas work coat—just like the one Reid wears. It’s by far the nicest piece of clothing I’ve ever had and will also be the warmest.
I meet his nervous gaze, and electricity passes between us in pulsing currents. I carefully drape the jacket on the armrest beside me, stroking it reverently.
I look in the bag to find a large cardboard box. The brand emblazoned atop the lid stops me in my tracks. Speculation and disbelief worm under my skin making me uncomfortable.
I gingerly take the box out and put it on my lap. I place my hands on the edges of the lid but am too afraid to open it. Sensing my hesitation, Reid says, “Go on then, open it.”
Nestled between crisp tissue paper are the most beautiful cowboy boots I’ve ever seen.
The brand is known for its quality and durability, and I know for a fact they're fucking expensive. Never in a million years would I dream of buying a pair for myself, but that doesn’t mean I don’t admire boots like this every time I see them in a shop window, or on a lucky bitch’s feet.
The boots are a rich hazelnut brown with hot pink and white western embroidery. They're practical square toes with low heels. Even with my limited knowledge, I can tell that these are very nice boots. I look at Reid wide-eyed with disbelief.
He rubs the back of his neck roughly with his hand and says, “I wanted you to have proper gear for when you spend time with me at the ranch.
I'll be unpacking the subtext to that statement as soon as I race upstairs to share every minute detail of this moment with the girls. He said, “for when you spend time with me.” As in, it’s implied that I’m invited back. And more than once if the cost of these gifts is any indication.
“Thank you…so much Reid. I love them. I'll take such good care of them, I promise.” I set the box down gently on the floor and scooch across the middle cushion to wrap him in a hug I hope conveys everything I'm feeling, because I’m far too scared to kiss him again.
I remember I have something for him as well, but was unsure if I should give it to him. After the gifts he’s given me, I think it’s worth the risk.
“Stay right here.” I order him and rush out of the lounge to find my bag by the front door. I find what I'm looking for and carefully carry it back to the sofa. Sitting next to Reid, I offer the gift to him, lifting it a little bit encouraging him to take it.
His eyes pour over it, taking in as much detail as fast as he can. His head shakes in disbelief.
“Sugar, is this what I think it is?”
I can’t contain my smile. “It’s a fully rendered sketch of Lucky Spurs Ranch. I couldn’t stop thinking about all your hopes and dreams for the ranch. And then after spending time there with you, the drawing flowed on its own until it felt complete.”
I'm so nervous, but I ask anyway, “Do you like it?”
“Like it? No, sugar. Like doesn’t even begin to cover it.
” He gently places the sketch on the coffee table next to his ball cap and wraps me in the best hug.
Being held in his arms, against his strong body, soothes my racing mind and I deeply inhale his unique Reid-scent.
I revel in his touch for a suspended moment in time before his deep voice rumbles.
“I’d better get going. I just wanted to drop by. Don’t want to intrude on your holiday.”
“No! It was wonderful. Thank you so much.” I don’t want him to go. I want him to kiss me.
I walk him to the front door, and we stand in a bubble of anticipation and tension, eyes locked, unsure of what the other is thinking.
Reid opens the door and before he steps out, says, “Merry Christmas, Isabelle.”
“Merry Christmas, Reid.”
I softly close the door behind him and lock it for the night.
I peek out the front window watching him walk to his truck. He makes it halfway down the drive and stops. He lifts my drawing to study it closely and gently runs his fingers over different parts of the picture.
My heart is in my throat. I can barely breathe from the emotions choking me.
He drops the sketch back down to his side and walks the rest of the way to his truck.
I'm about to step away from the curtain when he stops again and turns back to look at the house.
His empty fist clenches in and out at his side.
He looks again at the sketch and takes a step back towards the house. I inhale a gasp. Is he coming back? I deflate but am also relieved when he gets in his truck and backs down the snow packed drive.
Watching him drive away pulls the string wrapped around my heart because the other side is tethered to him. The further away he drives, the more my chest burns. I'm falling for this man.
I know how foolish that sounds, because if I was honest with myself, I’d admit that I’ve already fallen.