Chapter Twenty-Nine #3
“Don’t apologize. I’m glad I can talk to you about it, and that you’re not…I don’t know. That you’re not like that.” He pulls back a little, enough to look down at me with a mischievous grin. “Besides, I already know your favorite dessert.”
“You do?” I ask, frowning, racking my brain for when I could have possible told him that.
“Yep,” he nods seriously. “Me.”
I snort at that, rolling my eyes. “It’s chocolate lava cake, actually.”
“Mine is lemon bars. Lemon anything, really, but I’m a sucker for lemon bars. You know, I bet Paul Hollywood has a recipe for chocolate lava cake.” He gives me a devilish grin. “Would you give me more than a handshake for that?”
“You know, Tristan, you don’t always have to make a joke when things get serious.” I poke him in the chest. “You don’t have to pretend things don’t hurt.”
He blinks at me, something like shock registering in his eyes. “I know that,” he finally says, his voice quiet. “I know.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” I say hastily. “I love your sense of humor. But you don’t have to downplay how you’re feeling for my…” I pause, searching for the right word. “For my comfort, you know?”
Tristan’s arms hold me tight, and for a second, we just stand like that, together, breathing each other in.
Finally, his grip loosens, and when I glance up at him, worried I’ve gone a step or four too far, he’s smiling gently down at me.
“That’s not going to be an easy habit to break,” he tells me, one side of his mouth kicking up again in that indefatigable smirk.
“You don’t have to break it,” I tell him quietly. “You can be who you are, but you don’t have to try to make me more comfortable when you’re in pain.”
Breath whooshes out of him, and he rakes a hand through his hair. “I never thought about it like that. You are…something wonderful, Michelle, you know that?”
“Takes one to know one,” I tell him, then boop him on the nose.
He snorts. “Now who’s trying to lighten the moment?”
“Not me.” I drag out the words, finally paying attention to the black-curtained boxes that line the wall behind one of the couches. “What are those?”
He backs away, taking my hand with him, kissing my knuckles and pulling me toward whatever they are.
“Those are your new clothes.”
I give him a confused look. “Huh?”
He strides over to them, unzipping the first one. I hadn’t even clocked the zippers. I frown in confusion, and it takes me a moment to realize what I’m looking at as he pulls off the first black cover.
“Oh my god, Tristan, no. This is too much.”
“It’s not at all.”
“It is,” I insist, staring slack-jawed at the first of what I can now plainly see are five clothing racks.
Five clothing racks, filled to the brim with more clothes than I could even dream of fitting in my closet, much less my apartment.
And Tristan, standing in front of them with a massive smile on his handsome face, clearly beyond pleased with himself.
“It’s way, way, too much,” I say again. “I couldn’t even fit all of that in my whole apartment.”
“Take what you want, I’ll return what you don’t. I didn’t plan on you keeping everything.” A small shrug, like buying out five different stores’ entire spring lines in my size is totally normal behavior. “I had the stores put together a bunch of stuff. They know I’ll be returning some of it.”
“You went to all this trouble—”
“It wasn’t trouble. It was easy. I called them up, and they all thought it was ‘so cuuuute.’ ” He does a high-pitched voice that’s clearly supposed to sound like whoever he talked to on the phone.
“And this way, you have privacy, and no one has to see you struggle with the mere idea of wearing something other than work clothes.”
I glance down at my outfit for the day, slightly resigned to the fact that he might be right about the sad state of my wardrobe. “These are comfortable,” I say, somewhat defensively.
“They look like you ironed them this morning.”
“You know, you have a lot of opinions about my clothes.” It would hurt my feelings more if he wasn’t right.
My pants are the equivalent of denim trousers, and I’m wearing a silky shell with a cardigan that I have, in fact, worn to work.
“This was the rest of the guys’ idea, actually, Sweet Cheeks,” he reminds me. “But if you don’t want the clothes, I can just call the stores to come—”
“I didn’t say that,” I blurt out, and he gives me a knowing grin. “They’re not wrong. I could use some new things.” Considering I either have ratty workout clothes or business attire at home to choose from, I’m practically salivating over the racks already. “But I can’t let you pay for it.”
“Yes, you can. I’m your boyfriend now. I want to take you shopping. Besides, you said you liked to save your money, and I have plenty to spoil you with.”
It’s too much, but my chest squeezes with pure pleasure, and I leap into his arms, holding him tight.
“I could get used to this,” I say, then back up and clap my hands with excitement as I take in the bounty in front of me.
“I’ve created a monster,” he says with a laugh as I start digging through the clothes.
He looks pleased with himself, though, like he’s wanted nothing more than to have an opportunity to watch me try on clothes.
Well, if it’s a show he wants, I can certainly give my new boyfriend a show he won’t forget.