Page 97 of A Class of Her Own

He shook his head and took my hand. “No, Chipmunk, I’m serious. I was going to ask Leland or Hazel to introduce us after the meeting.”

I licked my lips, ignoring the chipmunk thing. “And then I opened my mouth.”

He nodded with a smirk. “Yeah.”

“For what it’s worth, I honestly felt sick to my stomach after most of those meetings. I hated the way I acted. I think part of me understood all along that nothing was truly your fault. I’m sorry.”

“Did you secretly find me wildly attractive, too? That would go a long way toward full healing on my part.”

I squeezed his hand. “I’ll admit to a certain level of interest.”

“I’ll take it.”

We pulled into his garage, and I carried the takeout inside while he followed along with his arm around my waist and said, “Now, for actual gifts.”

“You know dinner was enough, right?” I said as we entered his kitchen.

“I know. But if I can’t spoil my lady then my life is incomplete.”

“It’s just, I’ve never been spoiled. So, the idea of it makes me a touch squeamish. I’m not sure how to feel or react.”

He took my takeout bag and put it in the fridge while I took off my coat. Then he gripped my fingers in his and led me to the living room, flipping on lights as we went. When I saw what was waiting on the coffee table, I stopped walking so quickly that he ended up yanking on my arm.

“Presents,” I stuttered.

“Yep,” he chuckled, tugging on my hand.

There had to be six or seven of them. Basically, the same amount as my entire family ever got for Christmas. This was extravagant and unnecessary, and a swirl of unease loosened in my gut as he sat me on the couch facing them.

“Happy birthday, love.”

I couldn’t make any words come out as I surveyed the gifts. They were various sizes, all wrapped neatly, stacked just so. He was watching me with a smile, clearly excited to shower me with this offering, but I wasn’t sure I could accept so much.

“This is too much,” I said.

He grinned and picked one from the top. “This is nothing compared to what usually happens on birthdays.”

I blinked and took the gift with numb fingers. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this is slim pickings. I know holidays and birthdays were never big at your house growing up, so I tamped down on it. No balloons or streamers and no party hats. I kept the gifts to a minimum.” He was chipper to the extreme, clearly oblivious about the slight meltdown I was having. “I didn’t spend as much as you think I did, so enjoy.”

“This is slim pickings?” I asked, the numbness spreading to my lips.

What was he going to expect frommefor special occasions? Was I going to have to remember a set of celebration rules I’d never been instructed on? Was he going to be disappointed when he realized that thoughtful gifts and party planning were so far outside my wheelhouse that I often had to be reminded when a gift was required? Did he understand that on my salary I was barely making ends meet?

“Yeah. My parents went way overboard for my brother Grady and me. It was almost like one present for year of life. By the time I was eighteen, I had to beg them to stop. I was running out of room, and there are only so many pairs of hiking boots one guy needs, you know?”

I shook my head. “I’d have been happy to get one pair.”

My voice was low, and he must have finally noticed my ice-like state because his hand came to my back, soothing in warm circles.

“Hey, Chipmunk,” he said in a light tone, clearly hoping to snap me out of it with the absurd pet name, “Breathe. They’re only presents.”

I managed to meet his eyes. “Only presents. Is this, um, the type of thing you’re going to expect out of me?”

He frowned. “No. I’m not materialistic. I don’t expect anything.”

“But you’d be disappointed if the traditional gift haul didn’t happen for your birthday or Christmas?”

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