Page 34 of Holidating
"Those are supposed to be West Highland Terriers," I explain. "But most people call them?—”
"Westies,” he says with a laugh. "Aren't you clever?"
Smiling, he drops the flannel in his lap. And then oureyes meet, and we both seem to hesitate at the same time, because couples don’t just shake hands when they’re exchanging gifts. There’s often a thank-you kiss.
And now there’s a frozen look in Weston's eyes. Then he seems to shake off his hesitation. He moves, opening his arms.
Now, in my defense, I'm trying to be a better fake girlfriend today than I managed to be yesterday. So I open my arms, too, rotating toward him…
But I'm a beat late, and Weston is already in motion. The result is much more like a collision than a hug and kiss. My lips hit his throat as his face sideswipes my forehead. And I elbow his chest and he sort of crunches me against his collarbone.
At least my yelp of pain is buried in his clavicle. That’s the only saving grace to The World’s Most Awkward Hug Ever.
“Sorry,” we both murmur in unison, pulling back, matching sheepish expressions on both our faces.
I hear a painful snort and turn to see Stevie, who’sdyingof laughter. His face is red and his body is shaking.
Weston, also red faced, puts my gift in my lap. “Open this. I’ve been dying to know what you’ll think.” He winks at me, like we’re sharing a joke. “It could really go either way.”
“Okay!” I say, grateful for the distraction. I remove the polar bear and set it beside me. I don’t even know why I like it so much. Then I rip the paper off what turns out to be a hunter green Moo U hockey zip-up sweatshirt with awonderfulpiled fleece interior. “Ooh! Cozy,” I say. I’ve seen these before but they’re spendy, so I don’t own one.
“Don’t miss the back,” Weston says with a sly grin.
I flip over the shirt. And there it says GRIGGS in block letters right over his jersey number.
I laugh. Loudly. “So I’m supposed to parade around campus with your name on the back of my shirt?”
“Wouldn’t that be an honor?” Stevie asks, his voice a challenge. “I mean—rumor has it that you’ve taken the most eligible bachelor in Burlington off the market. Unless I’m wrong about that?”
“Oh, you’re right,” I say quickly. “But this isn’t 1965. These days a girl likes to stake her claim with a tattoo. I mean, it doesn’t really sayloveunless you bleed for it, am I right?”
Weston and his dad both crack up. Mr. Griggs gets up, pulls on his new fireproof glove, and feeds a log to the fire.
And that reminds me. “I have something for you, Mickey.”
“You do?” He straightens up, a look of surprise on his face.
“Absolutely. It’s right here.” I pull out my other wrapped gift. “My mother was big on hostess gifts. She never stopped by anyone’s house without a complete set of dishtowels, or a handmade candle.” I’m babbling now, because I can’t seem to shut up when I’m talking to Mr. Griggs. “So I wanted to bring you a thank-you gift, and the company where I did my internship makes nice stuff.” I hand over a wrapped present. “It’s just a little thing.”
Mickey gives me a funny smile and rips off the paper to find a pair of wool flannel slippers inside. “Thank you, Abbi. These are great.”
He’s not wrong. They’re charcoal gray with blue stitching, because Vermont Tartan makes snazzy things, especially for the forty and older set. “I’m glad you like them. It’s a nice local company, and I hope they’re around forever.”
“Well…” He sets the slippers down on the floor and slips his feet right into them. “As it happens, I have a little gift for you, too.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to do that.” I feel my face heat, because I never meant to put him in this position. And now I’m bracing myself for whatever emergency thing he’s just thought of to hand me.
“I know,” he says. “But this is for you, because I bet you could use it.” From beside his chair he pulls a shiny gift bag, with tissue paper sticking up from the top. He stands and hands it to me.
To my surprise, there’s a gift card tied to the handle readingAbbi.
“Oh,” I say stupidly. “Wow.”
“Go on,” he says quietly. “Open it.”
Nervously, I pluck the tissue paper off the top. And when I reach inside, my hand collides with buttery leather. I pull out a gorgeous new satchel, large enough for a laptop computer. It’s cut in a curvy, feminine style, in cognac leather.
I don’t know if I’ve ever held such a gorgeous bag. And when I flip open the top, there’s even a padded laptop pocket inside. “This is…wow.” I babble. “Sofancy. It even has that new bag smell.”
