Page 29 of Sweet Boys Love Christmas
Before she can turn and leave, I grasp her wrist. “Stay.”
God, I sound like I’m begging.
Iambegging.
She comes inside, hovering in the doorway and peering down at the snow and mud clinging to the bottom of her shoes. Cringing, she looks up at me. “I should’ve taken my shoes off on the porch. I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up.”
“It’s okay,” I insist, way too giddy to be in her proximity. She could dump a truckload of snow in the living room, and it wouldn’t sour my mood.
With a deep breath, I rein myself in. I can’t react this way every time I see her—like an excited puppy jumping at her legs.
“I… uh… I realized I forgot to give you your Christmas present.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a small box. “I don’t know how I didn’t think of it. I guess because I was enjoying the day, it slipped my mind.”
I stare at her, mouth open, more than a little surprised. “I… I didn’t get you anything.”
She laughs, the sound light and airy. Completely unbothered. “I didn’t expect you to.”
“B-but…” I stutter, at a loss for words. “You got me something.”
She shrugs. “It’s something you need.”
“Something I need?” I murmur, taking the package from her. As I study it, I rub my fingers over the shiny green paper with multi-colored strands of Christmas lights on it.
“Yeah.” She shrugs again.
It’s cute, how nervous she is. It gives me hope that perhaps her feelings are growing for me.
“I saw them and thought of you.”
My grin is instantaneous. “You were thinking about me?”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course that’s what you took from that.”
“Hey.” My smile gets even bigger, and I swear my heart expands. “You said it. Not me.”
When she purses her lips and bends to remove her boots, I have to fight the urge to pump my fist. She’s staying, and there was no begging involved.
When she straightens, she brushes the hair away from her face. “Just open the present.”
I tear through the paper and stare in disbelief at the box no bigger than my palm.
“Bertie.” Her name is a soft exhale. “This is… too much. These are almost three hundred dollars.”
“It’s not too much. You use earbuds all the time, don’t you? I always see you with the pair that only work with your phone if you have an adapter. These work with Bluetooth and have noise cancellation.”
Unbidden, tears prick at the backs of my eyes.
Dammit. It’s not about the gift.
It’s her thoughtfulness. She noticed my old, ratty earbuds and how often I use them. She doesn’t even know that I have OCD and struggle with racing thoughts. She doesn’t realize that music helps center me, helps calm me down when I start to spiral and things get to be too much. But sheseesme.
“It’s okay, right?” She sounds worried now. “You look upset.”
“You have no idea how much a gift like this means to me.” I stuff the small box of Apple AirPods—something I would never spend my own money on, since I help my mom with the bills and food—into my pocket. Then I cup her face and kiss her.
I don’t even think about it. It’s second nature to slant my mouth over hers.
She tastes like peppermint, like maybe she had one of those peppermint mochas she loves on her way over here.
