Emily
Itear the bow away and wrap it around my wrist. "Two for one." I smile over at Ryder.
"My parents bought their first grandchild a giant kitchen set when she was three; she played with the box." Ryder leans forward.
"Smart kid. Boxes are fun." I wink at him, and he wiggles his finger at me, his wide eyes pleading with me.
Honestly, I can’t take it anymore either.
I’m not a jewelry girl. And also not one for fads, trends, or brands that people have to have.
But Flore? I love the whole concept. It was founded by a disgruntled designer from one of the big trendy companies.
He takes ex-foster kids and trains them to be jewelers, but the really interesting part is they use a lot of recycled parts.
And the stuff that comes out of the shop is beautiful and unique.
And because each piece is handmade and original to the parts they have on hand, they're also incredibly hard to get.
Whitney received a bracelet from Flore as her engagement present.
But she hasn't even picked it up yet. Ordering from them is an act of faith, but honestly, I haven't seen anything from them that isn't beautiful.
"I'm not sure how you pulled this off. But thank you. I love it."
"You haven't even opened the box yet." Ryder laughs.
"I know. But you got it for me, so I know I'm going to love it."
"That's very sweet, but you're killing me—open it." He bounces.
I pull the lid off, and I'm speechless. A firefly of different iridescent colors with translucent wings hangs from a delicate golden chain. "It's beautiful." My focus ping-pongs from him to the necklace and back. It’s so beautiful, I'm almost afraid to pick it up.
"Are you going to put it on? Let me help you.
It's not as fragile as it looks." Ryder removes it from the box and opens the clasp.
I lift my hair, and he puts it on me, leaving a kiss under my ear.
My hair falls to my shoulder, and I stare at the delicate art on my chest. "The wings are made of mica sheets recovered from a woodstove salvaged from a house near where I grew up. "
"How . . . how did you?" My forehead furrows.
"The how isn't important; the why is because you're special and worth it." He slides back in front of me.
"I . . . thank you." I want to pay him back. I know how much something like this must cost but don’t want to insult him. A gift is a gift, is what my dad says. When you give something, you can't have expectations about how long they keep it. And when someone gives you a gift, you say thank you.
I place my hands on his knee and give him a kiss. Keeping my chest away from him.
He pulls me to him, sandwiching the necklace between our chests.
He breaks the kiss first, laughing. "It's not going to crumble. I've been assured it looks delicate but is strong."
My eyes land on it. "Okay." And this time when I kiss him, I don't worry about breaking the charm.
There's a knock, and Ryder moves off the bed, leaving me wanting more of his touch.
"Who is it? Emily's getting ready," Ryder barks.
"Let me in, asshole," Anders says.
The lock clicks, and Anders is wearing a tight black T-shirt and jeans.
His hair's wet and slicked back from his face.
His hands are behind his back. "Good morning, birthday princess.
" He leans over the bed and gives me a quick kiss, his hands still behind him.
"Do you want your present now or later?" He cocks an eyebrow at me.
"Oh, I see I've been beaten to the punch.
" Anders runs his pinky over the side of the necklace.
"This is nice, pretty." He eyes Ryder. He has no idea who the designer is.
And it endears Anders to me even more. He's got serious trepidation about the world I grew up in.
My eyes flick to Ryder. How did he even know about Flore Designs, let alone afford one?
"It is, isn't it? I've always had a thing about dragonflies. They're so pretty, but so strong, and important. The ecosystem needs them." My eyes flick to Ryder. I’m no dragonfly. I’m not the kind of person who thinks she’s all that important. I wish I was a dragonfly.
"It’s intricate." Anders’s lips slide sideways, and his brow furrows. "From Thayer?"
"Ryder," I say, my eyes dropping to Anders’s chest.
"What’s in the bag?"
"Nothing." Anders drops the bag to the ground.
"You know Emily's not that way," Ryder says.
"It's nothing."
"Anders, you know I would love any gift given to me." My heart seizes up. "When I said I didn't want this to become a competition, I meant it."
"I know I can't compete with—"
"There's no competing, not with Ryder, not with Oliver. This isn't about me wanting something from you."
"I want something from you," Ryder says with a smirk. He playfully taps my leg and sinks onto the bed. "You. And I want to give you another birthday present." He wiggles his eyebrows at me.
I cross my arms over my chest. "As much as I hate it, Thayer's right. We need to have more decorum. Or I need to learn not to be so darn loud."
"So we take a field trip without Holloway and his men," Anders says and sits next to me. Paper rattles behind him, and my eyes flick to the noise. "Here." He sets the bag on my lap. "Happy Birthday." And he places a kiss on my cheek.
"Thank you."
I reach into the full bag. My hand comes out with my favorite candy. "I love these," I say as I open it, popping a small bite of chocolate into my mouth. Its rich and creamy taste coats my tongue.
"There's more.” Anders inclines his head to the bag.
"There's a lot more," I say, sucking on the candy. I plunge my hand back into the bag and pull out five real crème eggs. The type you can’t get after Easter. "These are my favorites."
Anders smirks.
“I just said that about the last ones. I guess I have lots of favorites. How did you get these now?”
“The woman at the store sold me a hidden stash."
"These are so much better than the ones we get at home." I hold one out to Anders and Ryder.
"No, those are yours." Ryder gives it back to me.
"Sharing is caring." I hold it out.
Anders shakes his head. "Well, I want you to enjoy them." He eyes the bag. "There's more." He inclines his head towards the bag.
"It's like a stocking. Oh my God, it's like a stocking! You remembered."
"Of course I did."
I put my hand on Ryder’s ankle. "My mother loved Christmas, and she was the best at stockings. Well, back then I thought it was Santa. Though eventually I was the one who told Easton that Santa was Mom."
"What? Santa's your mother?" Ryder clutches my arm and faints back on my bed.
"You big goof. You should have seen how mad my mother was, though. It's a core memory. She didn't stay mad for long, but yeah, anyway, I've always loved stockings." I pull out another item. My moisturizer from home, and then a different one.
"The woman at the counter said that the French version was better, so I got both." Anders shrugs.
There's also a novel I've been meaning to read, a pack of gum, hair ties, lip balm, and other things I've been missing but haven't gotten around to getting. "This is so much fun." I lunge over and give Anders a kiss. Thank you. "This is the best birthday yet."
"Why do I have a feeling you say that every year?" Ryder says.
I shrug. I've been an optimist for most of my life.
Which is saying a lot considering my mother died when I was so young.
Or maybe it was because of her death. I've always wanted to cheer up the people around me.
People pleaser echoes around in the back of my brain.
"I suppose I do, almost every year. Except for the year .
. ." I blink it away. I worried about Easton so hard and for such a long time that year .
. . sometimes I forget about my time on the raft.
"Hey, sorry. I didn't mean for you to bring up the lost time."
"Wait, how did you know I was thinking about—"
"You get a look in your eyes when you're thinking about Easton and how you searched for him. You were . . . focused."
"I seem to remember some people calling it something besides being focused." I raise my eyebrow at Anders.
"I never left. I kept helping." He grabs my shoulders and stares into my eyes. "It was important to me too. Sam's like a father to me."
"Agreed," Ryder says.
When we first got back to Miami, everyone hung out at my house. But slowly, most had to go back to work. I don't blame them. Ryder and Anders stayed. Shayla, too, until she got too good a job offer.
“But I was worried about you. You stopped eating. And when you wanted to go searching for him by yourself . . .”
"Right, well let's bring down this party mood. I like your idea of flying the coop."
There's a thud on the door, and the handle wiggles. "Open up," Oliver says.
"Hold on, Whitehall." Ryder opens the door. Oliver waves at me, but he grins at Ryder.
"Whitehall." Oliver smacks the side of Ryder's arm. "I don't get called that often."
Ryder nods and looks at me like, what are we going to do with this one?
I shrug back. I have no idea.
"Happy Birthday, love." Oliver pushes past the other guys and pulls me to his chest. Ryder closes the door, but not before I see a flicker of a shadow in the hall. I'm taking in Oliver's linen and musk cologne, but the worry that someone saw him pull me in for a hug nags at the back of my brain.
"Thank you. Was there anyone out there?"
"In the corridor? One of the guards. But if they can't spill the secret of your being knocked up, we're safe."
"I . . ." He pulls me closer, cutting off my thoughts of being caught. "You're right."
"Of course I am. Now, I want to give you your present.
But not here." Oliver has his hands linked around my back.
"Fuck, is that a Flore design? Sutton wants one, but she was going on and on about being on some list when I was home last week.
I hadn't heard of them until she brought the website up and had me look at it. "
"It is."
"Thayer's taste has gotten better."
"Ryder got it for me." I hold Oliver's amber eyes.
Oliver turns to Ryder. "Did he now? How?”
"Clean living and charisma," Ryder says.
"Charisma, I have." Oliver wiggles his eyebrows at me and kisses the tip of my nose. "Are you ready to go? You're supposed to be warm and get some exercise."
"And where are we going?"
"Pack an overnight bag with a bathing suit."
"Oliver, we can't leave. What if James finds out?"
"What if he finds out that the doctor ordered you to get some exercise and warmth and you stayed here in the dreary old spring of England? That’s worse. The doctor ordered you to get some sun and exercise."
"But what about Thayer?"
"What about him? He doesn't have a doctor's order for sun and fun."
"Exercise, fun, and he didn't say what type of exercise, did he?"
"I suppose not, seeing that he didn't—"
"What a good doctor," Anders cuts me off.
"Right, the best." I playfully smack the side of Anders's arm.
"I'll tell Thayer. I’ll have you back soon."
"Where are we going?"
"That's a surprise."
Holloway’s taking up the front row of seats on the plane on one side. Two of his men are on the other. The scowl on his face is clear even from the back of his shoulders.
"I hope you don't mind. We couldn't have taken public transportation right now. Not without drawing too much attention," Oliver says and squeezes my hand.
"It's a necessary evil sometimes. During the trial period, I flew the Rockwell-Harding jets all the time. It wasn't safe to fly commercial. And now would be the same thing." I interlock my fingers with his.
"Thanks for understanding. I know how important the environment is to you," Oliver says.
"Are you going to tell us where you're taking us?" I squeeze his hand as the plane lifts from the runway.
"My home. Castoria."