Chapter 36 The Gift
THE GIFT
EMMA
I wake slowly, awareness coming in pieces. Soft sheets. Warm light. A bed that smells like Kai.
His side is empty but still warm. I stretch, muscles pleasantly sore, smile at the ceiling like an idiot.
The smell of coffee draws me out of bed. I pull on one of his t-shirts, hem hitting mid-thigh, and walk barefoot toward the kitchen.
Kai’s at the espresso machine, back to me, wearing gray sweatpants and nothing else. That should be illegal.
The boot is off for the morning, ankle wrapped in a compression bandage. He's moving carefully but without the crutches.
I stop in the doorway, suddenly unsure. Last night changed everything. What if—
He turns. His whole face softens.
“Good morning, baby.”
The word sends warmth flooding through me. He crosses the kitchen, movements slow but steady, cups my face in his hands. The kiss is gentle. Unhurried. A promise.
“Good morning,” I manage when he pulls back.
“Coffee?”
“Please.”
He makes me a cup. Remembers exactly how I take it without asking. We drift to the window, stand side by side, watch the city wake up below. His arm settles around my waist like it belongs there.
“No regrets?” he asks quietly, eyes searching my face.
I lean into him. “None.”
“Good.” He pulls me tighter against him. “I like seeing you in my clothes.”
I smile. “Ah, that’s why you keep giving me your clothes.”
His phone buzzes on the counter. He ignores it.
“That could be important,” I say.
“Everything important is right here.”
I roll my eyes, but I'm smiling. “Answer your phone.”
He grumbles but retrieves it, glancing at the screen. “It's Logan.”
“Then definitely answer it.”
He puts it on speaker. “This better be good. I'm busy.”
“Busy doing what at seven in the morning?” Logan's voice fills the kitchen, amused.
“None of your business.”
“Is Sin there? Hi, Sin!”
I laugh. “Hi, Logan.”
“Good, you're both awake. I have news.” A pause, dramatic. “We got it.”
Kai goes still. “What?”
“Silverpoint. The contract. It's ours.” Logan's voice breaks into a grin I can hear through the phone. “The council voted last night. Unanimous decision. ELK will be handling the city's entire clean energy infrastructure.”
“You're serious.”
Dead serious. Just got the official letter of intent. We did it, Kai. We actually did it.”
Kai sets down his coffee. For a moment he just stands there, processing. Then he turns to me, eyes bright, pulls me into his arms.
“We did it,” he says against my hair. “Emma, we did it.”
“You did it,” I correct him, but I'm grinning so hard my cheeks hurt.
“No. We.” He pulls back, hands on my shoulders. “Your campaign. The community angle, the schools, all of it. That's what tipped the scales.”
“He's right,” Logan says through the phone. “You should see the press coverage. Parents, teachers, local businesses, all singing ELK's praises. Whatever magic you did, Sin, it worked.”
I don't know what to say. This is what I do. What I've always done. Hearing it acknowledged, seeing the pride in Kai's eyes...
“We need to celebrate,” Kai says. “A party. Something big.”
“Already on it,” Logan replies. “Ethan's talking to the events team. We're thinking a gala. Black tie, the whole thing. Invite the council members, the press, everyone who made this happen.”
“When?”
“Two weeks. Give us time to do it right.”
Kai looks at me. “What do you think?”
“I think you deserve to celebrate.” I squeeze his hand. “You've worked so hard for this.”
“We,” he corrects again. “We've worked hard.”
He pulls me closer. Despite his healing ankle, despite the boot waiting by the couch, he spins me in a clumsy little dance right there in the kitchen. I laugh, hold onto his shoulders. For a moment everything is perfect.
“What are you two doing?” Logan asks through the phone. “I can hear shuffling.”
“Goodbye, Logan,” Kai says, hangs up.
He kisses me again, deeper this time. I taste coffee and joy and the beginning of something that makes my heart expand.
I float into work on a cloud.
The morning meetings blur past. I smile at everyone, even Rachel, even the guy from accounting who always microwaves fish in the break room. Nothing can touch me today.
Zoe corners me at lunch.
“Okay, what happened?” She studies my face. “You're glowing. Literally glowing. Did you finally—“
“The Silverpoint contract came through.”
“That's amazing! But that's not why you're glowing.” She narrows her eyes. “Emma Sinclair. Did you sleep with Hot CFO?”
I feel my cheeks flush.
“Oh my god.” Zoe grabs my arm. “Oh my GOD. Tell me everything.”
“Not everything everything. But... yes. Things have... progressed.”
“Progressed. She says progressed.” Zoe fans herself. “I need details. Scale of one to ten.”
“Eleven,” I admit, and she actually squeals.
“I knew it. I knew he had big dick energy. Was I right? I was right, wasn't I?”
“Zoe!”
“What? I'm happy for you!” She hugs me tight. “You deserve this, Em. You deserve someone who looks at you like you hung the moon.”
“He doesn't—“
“He absolutely does. I saw it when I visited. The man is gone for you.”
I think about this morning. The way he said baby like it was the most natural thing in the world. The dance in the kitchen. The way he keeps saying we instead of I.
“Maybe,” I admit. “Maybe he is.”
The days blur together in the best way.
I move my things from the guest room, piece by piece. My art supplies migrate to a corner of the living room that Kai quietly clears without being asked. My clothes fill half his closet. My shampoo sits next to his in the shower.
We fall asleep tangled together every night.
We haven't gone further than that first evening, both of us content to take our time, to learn each other in smaller ways first. The brush of his hand on my hip as I'm falling asleep.
The weight of his arm across my waist. The sound of his breathing, slow and steady, as the city glitters below.
Work is good. The Silverpoint news spreads through the office like wildfire. Suddenly everyone wants to talk to me about the ELK campaign. How did I craft the messaging? What was my strategy for community engagement? Could I consult on their projects?
Miles watches from the sidelines, jaw tight, saying nothing. His silence is louder than any insult.
“He's plotting something,” Rachel warns me one afternoon. “I've seen that look before.”
“Let him plot.” I'm too happy to care. “I'm not playing his games anymore.”
My freelance work expands. Marie's poster leads to three more commissions from her dance community.
Derek refers me to two other artists. Clio's gallery showing brings a steady stream of inquiries.
Every evening, I spend an hour or two at the dining table, sketching concepts, sending proposals, building something that's entirely mine.
Sometimes Kai sits nearby, reading or answering emails, content to share the same space.
One evening, after a particularly brutal physiotherapy session, he comes home frustrated and restless. Ankle is healing, but slowly. The limitations chafe against his natural energy.
I watch him pace the living room, wince with every step. An idea forms.
The next day, I stop at a specialty shop on my way home.
“What's this?” He eyes the wrapped package suspiciously.
“Open it.”
He tears the paper to reveal a leather case. Inside, arranged in neat rows, is a set of professional-grade lockpicks.
He stares at it. Then at me.
“You mentioned once that you learned to pick locks as a teenager,” I say. “Something about a misspent youth. I thought maybe you could teach yourself something new. Or relearn something old. Something you can do sitting down, that uses your hands, that isn't work.”
He's quiet for so long I start to worry I've made a mistake.
“Emma.” His voice is rough. “This is...”
“Stupid? I know, it's weird, I just thought—“
He pulls me into his arms. “This is perfect. You're perfect.”
“I'm really not.”
“You are.” He kisses my forehead. “You pay attention. You notice things. You saw that I was going crazy and you found a solution that wasn't 'just rest' or 'be patient.'” He pulls back, holding up the case. “Where did you even find these?”
“There's a shop downtown. I asked Maddox.”
He laughs, spends the rest of the evening picking the lock on the terrace door while I sketch at the dining table. The click of his tools becomes a comfortable background rhythm, punctuated by triumphant sounds when he succeeds. He even shows the set to Tank like a kid showing off a new toy.
I love... this.
The morning of the gala, the penthouse transforms.
A stylist arrives at ten with three rolling racks of dresses. Behind her, a hairdresser, a makeup artist, an assistant carrying enough products to stock a department store.
I stand in the living room, overwhelmed, as they take over the guestroom.
“Kai,” I hiss, pulling him aside. “This is too much.”
“This is exactly enough.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I want tonight to be perfect for you. Not because you need any of this.” His eyes hold mine. “You're the only woman who makes me forget everything else in the world. The dress, the hair, it's just wrapping. You're the gift.”
“That's very smooth.”
“I mean every word.”
I kiss him softly. “Thank you.”
“Go. Let them pamper you. I'll be getting ready in the bedroom.”
The next few hours pass in a whirlwind of fabric and brushes and heated tools.
The stylist presents options. I try them on.
Eventually we settle on a deep emerald gown that makes my eyes look enormous.
The soft fabric wraps around my body as if it was designed for me.
The hairdresser pins my hair up in an elegant twist, leaves a few strands loose around my face.
The makeup artist works magic I don't understand.
When I finally look in the mirror, I barely recognize myself.
I look like someone who belongs at a gala. Someone who belongs next to Kai.
I step out of the guest room. Kai is waiting in the hallway.
He's in a tuxedo, perfectly tailored, the boot finally replaced by a regular dress shoe. He can walk without the crutches now, though slowly. Hair styled back. Jaw freshly shaved.
He looks like a dream.
He sees me and stops. Just stops, like someone hit pause on the world.
“Emma.”
“Is it okay? The stylist said emerald would—“
“You're stunning.” He crosses to me slowly, eyes never leaving my face. “Absolutely stunning.”
“You clean up okay yourself.”
“I need you to know something,” he says quietly. “Before we go out there. Before the cameras and the crowds and all of it.”
“What?”
He takes my hands. Lifts them to his lips. Kisses each knuckle, one by one, eyes never leaving mine.
“In this life, I want only two things.” His voice drops low, rough with emotion. “I want you. And I want us.”
The words settle into my chest like a key turning in a lock.
“Kai...” My voice breaks on his name.
He waits. I can see the vulnerability he's trying to hide. The boy who was never chosen. The man who built walls so high he forgot there was someone inside them worth protecting.
He needs to hear it. He needs me to say it.
I want that too.” I reach up, touch his face. “I want you. I want us. I want all of it.”
He unravels. Breath shudders out. He pulls me close, forehead pressed to mine.
“Yeah?” A whisper.
“Yeah.”
He kisses me then. Soft and fierce and full of everything we haven't said yet. When he pulls back, his eyes are bright.
“You're going to ruin my makeup,” I manage.
“Worth it.” He pulls out his phone. “Can we take a photo? I want to remember how you look right now. How I feel right now.”
We stand together in the hallway, his arm around my waist, my head tilted toward his shoulder. The phone captures us in soft light. Emerald and black. He holds it up and we smile. Not the polished smiles of people performing for cameras. The messy, unguarded smiles of people who mean it.
He shows me the screen. We look happy. We look like we belong together.
“Send that to me.”
“Already done.”
I save it immediately. Set it as my lock screen before I can overthink it.
“Ready?” he asks.
I breathe deeply. “Ready.”
He offers his arm. I take it.
We step into the elevator together, descend toward the glittering world below, his hand warm over mine.
The calm before the storm.