His face is unreadable. Is he nervous? That’s not like him. His usual smirk is hidden, but the corners of his mouth turn up slightly as I enter. It looks more uncertain than cocky. What isn’t uncertain is that he’s glad to see me, and that I’m happy I took a second to get ready before I came. His hungry gaze travels over me, and warmth spreads downwards with a familiar tingle.
“Hi.” Such a short word, and yet there’s so much in his tone and the way he looks at me. He comes a step closer, then stops and pulls a bouquet of roses out from behind the chair. They’re gorgeous, a dozen shades of red, no two alike, and their clear, sweet smell reaching me even from across the room.
“Hi yourself.” My eyes dart from his face, to the flowers and back. “What’s going on?”
My heart feels like it’s on the top of a seesaw. I want to believe in the fantasy that this is a big romantic apology, but this is Gavin we’re talking about. It’s probably something his Dad set up for my mother. If I let myself believe too much, it will hurt that much more when I land.
I jump when I hear the click of the door closing behind me. A second click is the sound of the lock being turned. I don’t know what I’m scared of, but being locked in makes me nervous.
The fear must have shown on my face, since Gavin’s quick to say something. “Don’t worry. It still opens from the inside. He’s just giving us privacy.”
“Privacy for what?” If I didn’t know better, I’d feel like I was being set up for a marriage proposal on one of those hidden camera shows, but that’d be crazy. We already had the wedding. A romantic proposal now wouldn’t make any sense. If he gets down on one knee, I’m not waiting to find out, I’m running.
He stops an arm’s length in front of me, but no kneeling. “Alright, this is probably going to be crap. Just bear with me, alright?”
I nod, curious and terrified.
“Angie, I’m sorry. I fucked up.” He holds the flowers out, expecting me to take them.
I blink, caught off guard by the no strings attached honesty in his voice. There’s not even a hint of arrogance or condescension. As if on autopilot, I take the flowers and hold them close, inhaling their sweet scent. What is he up to?
“The other day... Look, I accused you of some pretty shitty things. I’m sorry.” It’s like it’s a word that he doesn’t have much experience forming with his mouth, and he has to concentrate to get it out. “I can’t promise I won’t fuck everything up again. I probably will, actually. But can you give me the chance to try? If words don’t convince you, I am willing to dedicate my tongue to a more passionate solution.”
There’s the smirk. I knew it couldn’t hide for long. Only Gavin could turn a romantic apology into a proposition for sex, but it’s so totally him that I can’t quite keep a little smile from forming on my face.
He holds up a hand like he just remembers something. “Wait, I got you something else too. Call it a peace offering.” He picks up a boxy package in brown paper with a pretty green bow from a low table near the chairs. “I think you’ll like it.”
Looking around, I try to figure out where to put the roses. Apparently, he’s thought of that too, since he pulls a vase from a bookshelf next to him. I arch my eyebrow at him in surprise and he laughs. “Don’t look at me. Captain Chuck suggested it. He’s smarter than he looks.”
“Maybe he’s just apologized to more women,” I joke.
“Maybe.” Gavin trades me the package for the flowers.
The brown wrapping is simple, but it feels like quality. The ribbon too, it’s actual velvet and hand tied. No cheap drugstore bow with a square of sticky tape like usual. This is all probably normal for Gavin, but I’ve never held a gift that felt so opulent before. I look up at him while he sets the vase down on the low table. “What is this?”
“Open it and see.”
For reasons I can’t explain, my heart starts pounding rapidly, like it knows there’s something special in there. I’m almost afraid to open it and find out, spoiling the magic. I force myself to take my time, untying the ribbon and carefully pulling the tape that holds the wrapping together. Inside is an unmarked box, and in it, another wrapper in softer paper, so thin that I see the outline of the present through it. It’s a book, but...
I pull the wrapper aside and gasp. It’s a book bound in leather. It looks ancient. Stamped into the cover is the title, “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.” By Lewis Carroll. Very gently, I open it, taking care not to damage the pages, marveling at the beautiful images and the pretty type.