Page 128 of The Love You Fight For
“You crushed parallel parking this thing,” he says, surveying the tires and their distance from the curb.
“I know,” I say proudly, then snap my fingers. “Pay attention, please.”
“Right, sorry. Where’s my gift?”
I try like hell to tame my smile, but it just won’t be tamed. I want to start giggling, but I swallow that back and turn to the side, waving at the building behind me.
“Ta-daaaa!”
Chris looks at the building, trying to keep the utter confusion off his face. He’s never been good with masks.
“Princess, this is the old Italian restaurant,” he says slowly, looking back at me with a raised eyebrow.
I smile and nod, then wave my hands at the building again.
“Taaaa-daaaaa!”
He bounces his eyes from me to the vacant building and back. Slowly, the confusion gives way to surprise and then denial.
“No way,” he whispers, and I bounce a little on the balls of my feet.
“Yes way.”
I take the key out of my pocket and slam it in his palm. He stares at it. He looks from the key to the building, then back at me.
“But how?”
“I figured I’d do something good with my father’s money before the accounts were frozen. I also pre-paid for five years of school lunches for all the students at the elementary school and bought all new art supplies and pottery wheels for the rec center.”
He blinks at me. He doesn’t speak. I think I broke him.
I start to worry that I did the wrong thing. That I was impulsive or maybe I insulted him. The men I’m used to would have hated a gift like this from a woman—they’d have found it emasculating.
Shit.
Maybe I didn’t think this through.
“It doesn’t have to be a restaurant,” I say quickly. “It doesn’t have to be anything, if you don’t want it to be. The whole building is yours, but you can sell it. You can rent it out. It’s paid off, but you don’t?—”
He kisses me. He cups my face in his hands and kisses me breathless, then he scoops me up and spins me in a circle until I’m giggling before setting me back on my feet.
“Does that mean you’re not mad?” I whisper against his lips, and I feel him smile.
“I’m not mad at all. I’m thrilled. Thank you, but I need you to know that I don’t need this. You don’t have to do this for me. My love isn’t conditional. You d?—”
“Shush!” I press my finger to his lips, silencing him. “Shush. I didn’t do this for any reason other than I wanted to do something kind for you. I love you, and I read somewhere one time that you’re supposed to do kind things for the people you love, so this is me doing that.”
He presses a kiss to my fingers, still pressed to his mouth, and then pulls my hand down.
“So this wasn’t because you feel guilty about me leaving my culinary career and working at the Franklin Auto Body garage?”
I scrunch up my nose and my ears heat.
“It might be a little bit that,” I confess. “But most of it was just that I love you, and you deserve something like this. You’re talented, and you should have a way to share your talent with others, and I love you. And I wanted to do something nice for you. And, you know, I love you. Did I say that already?”
Chris nods, then leans down and kisses me again.
“You can say it as many times as you want. I’ll never get tired of hearing it.”
