“Yep. ’Night, Michael.” I hugged him. This time the wool and sage and lemons—from him and the nearby trees—was perfect and sweet.
“’Night, Grace,” he said, and he was gone.
Holly and Lane left together after taking a little ribbing from me and Jack. Now that the secret was out, or at least acknowledged by the four of us, they were the ones to be teased.
Lane swept me into a bear hug, once again lifting me off the ground. “Killer party, Sheridan. I told you we’d break this house in right.”
“Hell, yes! Glad you could make it. We’ll see you soon?”
“You got it.” He winked, taking one last peek down my dress.
“Knock it off,” Jack admonished as he and Holly walked over.
“Can’t. They’re fantastic,” Lane replied, with another wink and that huge smile.
I swear, I could live in those dimples.
“I’ll show you something fantastic,” Holly said, pulling her dress down a little in front and flashing Lane and Jack the top of her lacy black bra.
I laughed as their eyes bugged out. You wave a boob in front of a guy, and he’s perpetually thirteen.
Tucking her girls away, Holly turned to me. “Great party, asshead. Lunch tomorrow?”
“Yep, call me in the morning…Not too early, though.”
Jack slipped his arm around my waist and tucked me into his side.
“Deal,” she said, and gave me a hug.
She and Lane walked to their cars, and he opened her door for her.
“Olive juice, Holly!” I called as she started her car.
She leaned out the window. “Olive juice too, ya little fruitcake!”
The two cars left the driveway, and I noticed they both went the same direction, even though I knew for a fact Lane lived the other way…
Jack and I walked back into the house and surveyed the damage: board games all over the room, wine glasses and half-eaten pie covering the coffee table. I yawned against him as he started turning out lights.
“You want to do this now or tomorrow morning, Crazy?” he asked, returning to my side and slipping his arms around my waist.
“We should do it now, but I don’t want to,” I admitted, leaning into him and relaxing my head against his chest. We looked at the tree. The twinkle of the lights and the patterns they made bouncing off the ornaments made the room very cozy. Lane and Jack (with a lot of surreptitious help from Michael) had managed to worry a fire together, and it crackled merrily in the background.
I’d switched the music a little while ago, and my favorite Christmas carols now played.
“Hey, we still need to do our presents!” I exclaimed, sliding out of his embrace and starting for the coat closet in the hallway where I’d hidden his.
“You want to do those now? Christmas isn’t for a few days, Gracie.”
“Yes, but the spirit is moving me now. Come on, George. Didn’t you get me anything?” I teased.
“Oh, I did, and when you see it you’re going to let me do that thing to you you said I could never, ever do.” He disappeared into the bedroom.
“Get over it, George. Never means never. I don’t care what you get me. Not going to happen.” I laughed.
He came back to the living room. If he’d retrieved anything, I couldn’t see it.
My present for him was big, so I made him sit on the couch and close his eyes. I removed it from the closet and set it in front of him.
“Okay, open,” I said. He complied, and then his eyes widened in surprise. It took him a few minutes to realize what it was.
“Grace, you really shouldn’t have done this,” he breathed, staring at my present.
Sitting in front of him was a brand new Breedlove Revival OM-M acoustic guitar. He picked it up like a father with a new baby: gently and with reverence. His hands explored the smooth lines, the curved planes, and with exquisite dexterity, he strummed. A beautiful tone came forth from the wood, and a wondrous smile broke across his face.
“Oh, love. This is too much.” He smiled and made no move to set it down.
I sat quietly next to him on the couch and listened to him play for a few minutes, losing himself in the music.
“This is extraordinary. Thank you so much,” he whispered, setting the guitar carefully beside him and turning to me. He placed his hands on either side of my face, with the same care he’d used to hold my present, and stared into my eyes for what seemed like hours. He leaned in and kissed me softly, barely pressing his lips to mine.
We kissed gently and sweetly, my hands coming up to cover his own as he held my face.
He leaned his forehead in to rest on mine. “I love you so much,” he whispered.
I smiled at him. “I love you too.”
He pulled away and put both hands behind his back. “Okay, your presents. Pick a hand,” he instructed.
“Presents? You got me two things? Not fair,” I said, wrinkling my nose.
“Gracie, shut the fuck up and enjoy this. Now pick a hand, please,” he said, his eyes dancing.
I sat back and looked at him, the beautiful man in front of me. I pointed to his left hand, then looked at him expectantly.
“Okay, close your eyes,” he said.
I raised an eyebrow, but did as I was told.
“Put out your hand, love.”
I stuck my hand out, and into it was placed what felt like a small velvet box.
What?
My eyes fluttered open and stared at the box from Harry Winston.
What? And I say again, what?
“George, what did you do?” I asked, my heart beating against my chest.
“Just open it, Nuts Girl,” he said, nudging me with his knee.
Carefully, I opened the box and stared. It took me about thirty seconds to fully comprehend what was inside, and then I threw myself into his lap. The tears began immediately. “Jesus, George, I love you so much!” I choked through my tears and maniacal laughing. I was having a full-on breakdown.
He laughed with me, both of us falling backward on the couch. I kissed him repeatedly, my kisses mixing with tears as I kissed his eyes, his temples, his cheeks, his chin, and finally his mouth. Actually, I tried to kiss his mouth, but he was grinning too wide to let me, so I ended up kissing his teeth.
“You know we are totally crazy, right?” he asked me, brushing my hair back so he could look at me.
“Well, you don’t call me Nuts Girl for nothing. You wanted a crazy girl, and you sure got one.”
“I sure did, and how lucky am I?” he said, still smiling.
“No one will understand this. You know that, right?” I said, still trying to kiss him.
“They don’t have to. This is about you and me.” He kissed me deeply, and I melted. I actually melted into his arms as I started to cry again.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He chuckled.
“What the hell did you think was gonna happen, Hamilton?” I screeched, looking at it again.
We looked together, both smiling hugely.
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I asked you to move in, huh?” I teased, then I remembered something. “Hey, where’s my other present?” I asked.
He rolled his eyes. “See, now to most girls, that would be enough,” he answered, sitting us back up with a stern look.
“I am not most girls,” I explained, sitting primly on the edge of the couch, admiring my first present.
“You are ruddy well right about that,” he scoffed, and told me to close my eyes again.
“Jesus, George just give it to me.”
“That’s what she said,” he said, laughing the high-pitched laugh he reserved for when he cracked himself up. Which was often.
I rolled, then closed, my eyes once more.
“Put your hand out,” he instructed.
This time, when I did, I felt something paper.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Open, please,” he said.
I looked down at my hand.
It was a plane ticket. A plane ticket!
“A plane ticket? What? Am I going on a trip? Where am I going?” I squealed, my voice climbing so high that he clapped his hands over his ears in defense.