Page 73 of Minted

It’s two ties. One is blue, and one is red. “We couldn’t decide which one to get—and usually we agree,” Ricki says. “But Barbara said we could get both.”

I smile. “These are perfect, and for my job, I have to wear a tie every day, so they’ll get a lot of wear.”

“I told them that,” Barbara says.

Before she can stop me, I snag the other box. One from Barbara. I shake it just a bit—because when I’m not rushing, I can’t help guessing. There’s not much movement, and she knows I dress up for work. “I think it’s a dress shirt to go with the ties.” I shake it one more time, and then I nod. “It’s the right size and weight, and it sounds like fabric.”

Barbara’s smirking.

So I open it—but it’s not a shirt. It’s a scarf, and it looks like. . . “Did you make it?” The scarf’s kelly green, and on either end, there are two stripes, one smallish cream one, and one thicker red one. The tassel alternates between all three colors.

Barbara always looks so adorable when she blushes. I think that means she did make it herself, which makes me love it even more.

“It’s amazing,” I say.

“It won’t match your style,” she says, “but after Mom died, it made me feel better to crochet things. And that one reminded me of you.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because it’s green,” Ricki says. “Like money.”

That makes all of us laugh.

“I think it made me think of those shoes you wore when we first met,” she says. “The ones with the stripe?”

It warms my heart a little, thinking that she was paying attention to me, even then.

“Open the other one.” She hands me the second box.

It’s about the same size as her book box was, and it’s about the right weight, too. I catch her eye so I can watch her reaction. “Did you get me a book this year?”

Barbara looks nervous, for some reason, picking at the tissue and wrapping paper she was ignoring before. Then she starts stacking it all up, like we’re going to suddenly start trying to reuse wrapping paper. “Just open it.”

“So it’s not a book, or you’d be annoyed at my guess.” I shake it again. It’s sliding a bit—and it’s something hard. “Is it a tablet?”

She shakes her head.

“It’s a picture?” I ask. “Or maybe a painting?”

“You’re ruining the surprise,” Ricki says. “Just open it.”

I glare at her a bit, but then I finally do open it. It’s a photo frame—a beautiful, dark wooden one. And inside, there’s a photo of me and Barbara, smiling. She’s wearing her gold dress, so it must have been snapped at the holiday party we just attended. I look up at her. “Was this from—”

She’s blushing. “Their PR team sent it to me, and I just thought. . .”

It gives me hope. Oliver’s stupid words had been rolling around in my head, making me second guess everything. That’s why I hid Barbara’s last present inside the branches of the tree. But this renews my faith. “Look. I got you something else, too.” I reach around her and snag it. Then I set it in her lap.

It’s a small blue box.

With a big white bow.

“It’s the only gift that didn’t match the color scheme,” I say, clearly nervous. “That’s why it was hiding.”

“Is that the only reason?” Nikki asks.

She’s an intuitive kid. I shake my head. “I wasn’t sure whether I was ready to give it to her,” I say slowly.

Barbara has frozen in place, like a beautiful ice sculpture in a garden downtown. “Bentley.”

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