Chapter Fourteen #3
“Must have taken you all fucking day to open your gifts as a kid,” he quipped, and I smiled and moved to rip it open, hearing a shutter once.
I pulled off the top and moved the bright red tissue paper out of the way. There was a stunning silk patchwork robe. I picked it up immediately, holding it up with a smile. Beautiful. It was stunning.
The shutter went off again, and I shook my head at him. “This is gorgeous.”
“Thought it matched your kind of exotic look.”
“You picked this out?” I asked, folding it back into its box.
“Sound surprised. I picked out everything here, Riya.”
I couldn’t decide if I liked that more or not. It was almost easier to accept the gifts if, say, Marg picked them out. Or, hell, even Brock, Barrett, or Tig. But Sawyer had taken time out of his already busy schedule to pick out gifts for me. That made it actually mean something.
And I wasn’t sure if I could handle him meaning more to me than he already did. Especially when we hadn’t known each other that long.
“Come on. We have other holidays still. You can reflect on my amazing taste later.”
I laughed at that and reached for another box, smaller, in a vintage pine tree pattern. I unwrapped it to find a big, heavy, blue and tan stoneware coffee mug.
And, again, I tried not to overthink it.
But he got me my own coffee mug. To put in his cabinet.
Another box offered me an assortment of expensive bath bombs.
Yet another had a girly drink mix kit.
Then, in a huge box, I found a canvas oil painting recreation of an old family photo of mine—me and my parents sitting in front of our Christmas tree. I was maybe twelve at the time and going through an incredibly awkward phase, hair and eyebrow-wise. But I was beaming.
“How did you…” I said, shaking my head.
“Barrett came across the picture when he hacked into your Facebook account. I thought it suited this perfectly.”
That time, when the tears stung, I didn’t fight them.
And when the urge told me to crawl over to him and wrap myself around him, I did that too.
There was no hesitation when his arms went around me. And when the mix of happy and sad tears slid down his neck, his hands stroked up and down my spine, into my hair.
I’d received a lot of gifts in my life. A fair amount of those gifts were even from boyfriends, but not one was ever quite as thoughtful as the one he had gotten me.
“Alright, babe,” he said, giving me a squeeze. “One last one,” he said, his body shifting as he, I imagined, grabbed the gift.
I swiped my eyes and shifted back slightly but left my legs where they were, feet planted near his hips, the outsides of my thighs against the insides of his.
He made no move to pull away either, putting a small jewelry box into my hands. My brows drew together as I looked down, feeling like jewelry was an intimate gift. Men didn’t buy jewelry for friends.
But he was watching me, so I didn’t have time to think that through.
I pulled off the top to find a necklace sitting there. It had a delicate silver chain and a very simple, very Sawyer-like, centerpiece of two interlocking circles. One was larger and brushed silver; the other was smaller and brushed copper.
And there was a meaning there that I wasn’t sure he picked up on, but I sure as hell did.
It was a relationship necklace.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, meaning it, knowing it would immediately become my new favorite piece of jewelry. In fact, the urge was so strong to take it out and put it on that I gave in and did so. “How does it look?” I asked, angling my chin up to the side so he could look.
But his eyes were on me, and his finger and thumb grabbed my chin and pulled my head back down.
“Beautiful,” he said, and my belly fluttered.
He looked for a long second before his hand fell.
“So, New Year’s,” he declared, pulling away suddenly and moving toward the champagne.
“Did you have any resolutions you were mulling over before everything happened?”
I snorted as he popped the cork on the champagne and poured us each a flute. “To not date any more assholes,” I offered, smiling.
“Should be every woman’s resolution every year. Though lately, seemed like the assholes and fuckboys outnumber the decent guys.”
I took my flute and raised it to toast him. “I know a few,” I offered. His smile softened as he saluted me back and took a sip. “So… birthday.”
“Really, this is way too many presents,” I objected, shaking my head.
“Shush,” he said, walking over toward the birthday stuff and gesturing toward the pile.
So then I opened my birthday presents.
I found two new dresses, just a tad tighter than I generally bought for myself. There was a pair of heels. And then there were passes to a comedy show, the movie theater, and the local spa.
“Time to start going out and doing shit again, Riya. Get a life going.”
I nodded, acknowledging the truth in that.
“This is really nice of you, Sawyer. Thank you so…”
“We’re not done, babe,” he said, and I looked back to the table to see if I missed something.
“I don’t see…”
“Well, you also missed Easter, Fourth of July, and a couple of bullshit holidays, but there’s one big holiday you missed that you probably had no plans to celebrate since your last ex was a fuckwad and you were likely heavy in a ‘fuck men’ phase.
But you missed it and I am making up for that as well. ”
Right.
“The roses,” I said, looking back toward the hall.
“The roses,” he agreed, nodding a little.
“The roses are a bit…”
“Over the top?” he supplied. “Yep,” he agreed, not seeming the least bit embarrassed about that fact.
“I never had you pegged for cheesy.”
“I never had you pegged for someone so cynical that you confuse something traditionally romantic for cheesy.”
Well, hell.
He had me there.
I never used to be that girl.
Before Michael, I would have melted if I came home to a single rose on my pillow or a box of chocolates when I had a crummy day. I used to be a sap for all intents and purposes. I cried at weddings and got butterflies at romcoms.
“Okay, fine. It’s sweet,” I gave in, offering him a smile. “But if I follow those rose petals to find a freaking skimpy lingerie set, I am going to be crazy disappointed.”
“Really?” he asked, following me as I followed the rose petals. “Then I probably really shouldn’t have gotten you all those different dildos and vibrators, huh?” I chuckled as I found the roses stopped outside the closed door to my room.
There was a small red envelope taped to the door, and I reached for it with a smile as he watched me.
Inside, I found a card with a jug of Sunny D on it with “You want the D” written beside it.
A surprised, amused laugh turned into a fit of giggles, and I heard the shutter again; and I knew that a mid-laugh picture would need to be deleted as soon as we finished.
“Well, that is going out on a good note,” I said, shaking my head at him.
“You’re not done,” he said, nodding toward the door.
“Sawyer, this is too much.”
“Go in,” he demanded.
With that, I moved inside and found my bed made and covered in a giant basket.
I moved forward, giving him a smile over my shoulder.
The basket was obnoxiously red and pink and basically looked like love threw up all over it.
And I loved every bit of it—from the bouquet of lilies (because I wasn’t a huge rose fan, something one of them had dug up about me), to the giant box of chocolates, the chocolate-dipped strawberries with red and pink drizzle, the candles with Cupid on them, the pile of cheesy romcoms, and the red fuzzy teddy bear.
“You did this?” I asked, picking up the bear and hugging it to my chest.
“Yep.”
“You didn’t consult Marg or something?”
“Consult the woman whose husband has bought her convenience store chocolates every Valentine’s Day for the past fifteen years and who thinks that is the most romantic thing in the world? No, babe. I didn’t consult anyone.”
“You closet sap, you,” I teased. “Admit it,” I said, reaching for the copy of You’ve Got Mail and waving it at him, “you bought this because you actually want to watch it.”
“Caught me,” he said with a smile. I put the movie back in the basket, the humor mostly gone, and I was feeling a bit sad that the night was over. “Invite me to watch a movie with you, Riya,” he said, his voice quiet.
I looked over to find him watching me, head tucked to the side.
“Want to watch Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks somehow fall in love with no sexual chemistry with me?” I asked, pulling it back out and handing it to him. While he loaded it into the player, I took the basket off the bed and put it on the floor, but not before fishing out the chocolates.
And, well, I kept the teddy bear with me too as I climbed into the bed and sat against the headboard.
Sawyer put in the DVD, grabbed the remote, kicked off his shoes, and moved onto the empty side of the bed.
His big body took up more than his half, his shoulder pressing into mine, our bodies touching from there to our ankles.
He skipped to the main menu and pressed play, then reached toward where the box of chocolates was sitting on my lap and took one of the nasty fruit-filled ones to eat.
Michael and I used to fight over the nougat or caramel ones.
I remember when I asked my mom how she knew my father was the one; she said it was when she realized he liked pickles when she hated them, so when she got coleslaw at a diner, he took the “nasty” pickle off for her.
Obviously, she wasn’t serious, but there was meaning there.
She knew when she learned she found someone who made the entire picture complete, someone who had strengths where she had weaknesses, who was lacking where she excelled.
So, try as hard as I did to not read too much into it, I was reading into it.
“Remember when AOL was actually a thing?” he asked, shaking his head at the TV.
“Good old days,” I agreed, nodding, remembering my mother pleading with me to get offline so she could use the phone. “Though,” I added, nudging him slightly, “today was a really good day too.”
“Yeah?” he asked, his arm moving around my shoulders.
And, yeah, I melted right into him, my head going onto his chest, my arm resting on his stomach.
“Yeah.”
“Good. That was the point. You needed a good day.”
“I take it back,” I said, taking a deep breath, breathing in his slight spicy scent. “It wasn’t a good day.”
“No?” he asked, his fingers tracing up my arm.
“No,” I agreed with a nod. “I had a perfect day. Thank you, Sawyer,” I said, giving him a squeeze. And then, with good feelings so overwhelming I felt like I might burst, I tilted my head up to look at him. He ducked his head down. Our eyes held gazes.
“I know a way to make it even better,” I suggested, the words coming out before I could think them through.
“Oh yeah?” he asked, his hand moving over my shoulder and landing on my neck, his thumb stroking across my cheek. “Why don’t you show me?” he suggested.
I smiled, pushing up, putting a leg on either side of him and taking his face between both my hands.
And then I showed him.