Page 67 of Paradise in Progress
He shrugs as I step over his legs and sit in the space next to him. He’s already reaching out his cup for me before I have the chance to take it from his hands. I find myself humming at the easy routine we’ve established. “How? When did you do all of this?”
“I had a little help from Destiny. Turns out, our general manager is incredible.”
“Well, we knew that.” I take a sip of the hot java and notice the perfectly tan color in the mug. Quirking an eyebrow, I look up and find Tristan watching me. My brows form a ‘V’ as I’m hit with a suspicious feeling. “You always drink your coffee black. Why is this the same tan shade that I make my coffee?”
“Maybe because I already drank mine while I was waiting for you, and when I heard you get up, I made a mug how you like it because I knew you’d steal mine.”
Speechless, I snuggle deeper into the couch and his side. As his hand lands on the outside of my thigh, and I take in how festive the space looks once again, I can’t get over how everything about this moment feels so domesticated. The thought has my heart palpitating.
Maybe I was wrong about Tristan. Maybe he feels the way I feel too.
With a slight pat to my butt that makes me smile, I glance up at him. “There’s more, Firecracker.”
“More? This is perfect. Can’t we just sit here and watch Ralphie?”
His chuckle reverberates through my body. “It’s on all day long. I think we’ll be able to watch it any time we like. Besides, you have presents to open.”
“But I didn’t get you anything.” My heart sinks at my carelessness. I cannot believe Tristan, of all people, planned this and even picked out gifts.
He stands, and I admire the way his ironically Christmas patterned pajama pants hang low on his hips. I take his outstretched hand as he bends down and kisses the spot below my ear. “I’ll unwrap my present later.”
The deep timber of his promise has my thighs clenching. We step around the coffee table and sit in front of the tree, but not before Tristan moves us closer together. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cell phone. Flipping through his homepage, he clicks on the camera app and angles it in the air. I smile up as he taps the screen.
My stomach flutters at Tristan wanting to document this moment. Of course, he’s snapped a few pictures here and there, but this feels different. It feels like we could really give this a go and have a future together. One with our own Christmas morning traditions of late-night wrapping presents while our kids sleep. Of waking up to the sound of tiny pitter-patters across the floor as they rush to the tree. Watching our children unwrap a mountain of presents while we sit and drink coffee, smiles planted firmly on our faces.
“Here, open this one first.” Tristan reaches behind me and pulls out a large, rectangular present wrapped in white-and-gold paper. I can’t help but admire how perfectly minimalistic it looks. I wonder if he wrapped these gifts himself.
Tucking my finger beneath the seam, I gently pop open the tape. “You know you can just rip it.”
“But it looks so pretty. I’d hate to ruin the work someone did.”
He scoffs. “I’m wounded, Kenny. Do you think I had someone else wrap your present?”
Chewing on the corner of my lip, I look up at him with a one-shouldered shrug.
“Wounded. Deeply wounded.” My body warms knowing he put the extra effort to wrap my gifts himself when he could have paid anyone to do it.
With the paper completely removed, I slide open the top of the white box and move the tissue paper. A soft gasp escapes my lips as I take in the gift in front of me. A large pack of Prismacolor colored pencils sits on top of a gorgeous leather-bound sketchbook. Reaching inside the box, I pull out the sketchbook and relish the buttery softness of the rich leather.
“Tristan, it’s beautiful. You shouldn’t have done this.”
He doesn’t say anything but reaches for the last present, and I hate that I didn’t think about getting him a gift. When he places the gift in my lap, I glance up with an ornery smirk as I start to unwrap the gift slowly. I can see his eyes widening with impatience, and as he opens his mouth to tell me to, no doubt, hurry it up, a wide smile breaks across my lips. Gripping the paper, I rip it aggressively, and he shakes his head with a chuckle.
“Oh my gosh,” I gasp as tears well in my eyes. My fingertips brush against the glass frame. Sitting in my lap is a large frame with a white mat aroundmyrendering of this resort. There’s a small plaque with the words: ‘My first lead architectural project 2024.’ Holding theframed rendering in my hand, I let the tears fall free, not concerned with Tristan seeing me cry.
“D-do you not like it?” Uncertainty laces his voice, and the last thing I want is for him to feel any ounce of self-consciousness when the gift was incredibly thoughtful.
Placing the box on the floor, I fling my legs over his outstretched ones as I toss my arms around his neck. My lips find his, and I capture his gasp as my tongue dips inside his mouth. With a flick across his, I feel him growing hard beneath me—his pajama pants aren’t hiding anything. As much as I want to prolong this moment, now is not the time.
Leaning backward, Tristan groans at our loss of connection. My smile widens as I stare into his darkened hazel eyes.
“That was the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me. I love them... I-I love you.”
I’m hit with nerves as shock flares across his sharp features. But any uncertainty is gone just as quickly, feeling warm from the inside out as he smiles. Reaching up, he brushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear, but he doesn’t remove his hand. Instead, he grips the side of my face, his thumb rubbing across my cheek as he pulls my head toward his. His forehead leans against mine and he inhales deeply. A comfortable silence falls over the room, the only sound the lit flames of the candle and my heartbeat, which I’m sure he can hear.
“I never allowed myself to think about my future outside of the company. It’s been a guarantee in my life that I would work in the family business and, eventually, I’d get married, but I never put much thought into the type of wife I’d want. That was, until you came back into my life. I love you, too, Kennedy.”
His lips find mine, and instead of a hurried kiss, this one is languid. It’s passionate and filled with so much longing and adoration; I feel his love being poured into me.
