AFTER RORY CARRIES me into the shower and insists on washing my hair for me to “give my wrist a rest,” we move to the living room.
Excitement flutters through me as I set the stocking I made him in his
lap.
“You did this?” His fingers trace the gold stitching of his name. “Of course.”
On the couch beside him, I pull the blanket over my bare legs and watch
with a smile as Rory opens his stocking, setting the items one by one on the coffee table with care. Deodorant, gum, Lindt chocolates, wool socks, an orange, and lip balm.
He chuckles at the plastic key chain I bought the other week—a tiny dragon with a pissed off expression and flames coming out of its mouth.
Amusement sparks in his eyes. “Is this you?”
The apples of my cheeks ache, I’m smiling so much this morning. “I bought it so you could bring it on the road, but that was before I saw you already have a dragon of your own.”
He studies the cheap piece of plastic, turning it over with a smile. “I love it.”
He reaches back into the stocking and pulls out a can of room- temperature beer, grinning at it in surprise.
“I like this kind,” he says.
“I know.” I kiss him on the cheek. My mom always puts beer in my dad’s stocking. I understand the appeal.
“Thank you, Hartley.” He sighs, looking at all the stuff lined up on the table before he shakes his head. “I didn’t expect this.”
My throat closes up with emotion. Even if this all falls through, even if Rory loses interest in me and moves on to someone else, I’ll remember moments like these.
I don’t regret any of this. Rory deserves to be shown that he’s loved. He kisses me again and I smile. “Thank you,” he says.
“You’re welcome.” I wrench around, pointing at the larger present, a wide, flat rectangle wrapped in blue paper with dancing reindeer. “That one next.”
Rory heads to the tree, still wearing a funny, curious smile as he carries it over. He tears the wrapping off, revealing a framed navy and gray jersey
—an older Storm jersey. His brows knit as he pushes the paper away, and he stares, taking in the autograph on the number.
My heart beats hard, praying he likes it. “You framed Ward’s jersey for me?”
I can’t tell how he feels about it. “You don’t have to hang it up or anything. No one has to know that you have it. I just—” I break off, scrambling to remember why I chose this as one of his gifts. “You said he was your idol. You said making him proud this year matters. I wanted to get you something that reminded you of what matters.”
His earnest, searching expression cracks into a brilliant smile, and he beams at me before looking back at the framed jersey. “I fucking love it, Hartley.”
My whole heart lifts. Admiration fills his eyes as he studies the autograph.
“Did he sign this for you?”
I nod, smiling. “He was happy to.”
Rory makes a pleased noise in his throat before he sets it down and gives me a kiss.
“Thank you,” he says against my lips.
“You’re welcome.” I can feel the goofy, happy look all over my face as the warm, buzzy feelings flow through me.
He sits up. “My turn.”
“No.” My eyebrows shoot up, and my stomach flutters as nerves flood my system.
He gives me a curious look.
“Um.” My fingers twiddle together, fingertips rubbing fast circles. My eyes dart over to the tree and I point at another gift. “I have one more for
you.”
“You’re spoiling me,” he says, shaking his head as he retrieves the gift I pointed to. Back on the couch, he tears the wrapping off.
It’s the photo us in the high school library, except instead of being cropped like it is on his phone background, it’s the full picture. Us sitting side by side at one of the library tables, books and papers scattered in front of us, me wearing a guarded, reluctant smile and Rory grinning ear to ear with his arm thrown around me.
Rory hums, studying the photo with a look I can’t read.
“You can put it on your shelf.” I shift under the blanket. Maybe it’s a weird gift. I should have run it past Pippa to see if he’d like this kind of thing.
He tilts the photo to me. “I liked you then.”
Flutters scatter throughout my chest. “I liked you then, too, I think.” We smile at each other.
“I love it, Hartley. Thank you.”
He stands, walks over to the bookshelf, and positions the picture at eye- level. When he glances over at me, his mouth tilts and he winks.
“Perfect,” he says.
I could melt right into the couch, I’m so relieved and happy.
A moment later, he drops a small gift into my lap and flops down on the couch beside me, watching me with bright eyes. “Your turn.”
The box is small, barely bigger than my palm, and I tear the wrapping away to reveal a velvet jewelry box.
My pulse takes off at a sprint.
“That better not be a fake engagement ring,” I blurt out, even though I know it isn’t.
I think.
His eyes sharpen and his grin turns feline. “What if it is?” “Rory.” My face heats and his grin widens.
“You’re so easy to fluster, Hartley.” He tilts his chin at it. “Just open it.” The velvet is soft under my fingers as I crack it open, and inside are two sparkling stud earrings, stones the color of my eyes. My breath catches, and
for a long moment, I just stare at them. “You hate them.”
“No,” I rush out on a light laugh. “How could I hate them? They’re beautiful.”
There’s a feeling in my chest as I meet his cautious smile—a flipping, turning, rolling as Rory and I look at each other.
“Don’t say it’s too much or too expensive.” His eyes are so soft, like the velvet box in my hand. “I was thinking about you when I saw them, and I like buying things for you and making you happy.” He exhales slowly, eyes still roaming my face. “And you deserve something beautiful.”
It’s so cliche, me falling for a rich guy who loves to buy me things. I’m more evolved than this. I can buy my own damn earrings.
It’s not the cost, though. It’s that he was thinking about me. It’s the gesture, because Rory Miller is turning out to be so fucking caring and kind and sweet.
“You were thinking about me?” The corner of my mouth turns up, and I glance down at the earrings again. They really are gorgeous. I’ve never owned jewelry like this, and I’m already terrified I’ll lose them.
“Constantly,” he says, almost reluctantly, like he wishes he didn’t have to tell the truth.
My heart falls out of rhythm, excited and pleased. “These are too pretty to wear.”
“Hartley. Wear those earrings. If you lose one, I’ll buy you another. I’ll buy you ten.”
I snort. I don’t know what that means that he can basically read my mind.
“Try them on.” He settles back against the couch, finally looking at ease in his own home. “Let’s make sure they fit.”
I huff a quiet laugh as I slip the earrings out of the box and put them on.
When I turn back to Rory, his eyes warm with affection. “Gorgeous,” he says in a low voice.
“Pippa has ones like these, I think.” My heart warms at the idea of having earrings that match hers.
“Same stone, different design,” Rory says. “Same jeweler.”
He got the jeweler recommendation from Jamie. He put effort and planning into this.
My stomach flutters and I bite back a smile, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He leans forward to pick a green envelope off the coffee table before handing it to me.
My eyes narrow as I rip it open. “Another weekend away with Pippa?” I ask, wiggling my eyebrows, and he smiles to himself. I pull the paper out and read his scratchy, masculine writing.
It’s for five coaching sessions with the woman who started the body- positive dance studio in New York, the one who inspired my dreams.
My gaze whips to his. Months ago, when he was first teaching me to skate, I mentioned her once. I didn’t even say her name.
Just when I think I’ve seen all there is to see with Rory, he pulls something else out of his back pocket.
“I didn’t know she did coaching,” I breathe, rereading his card.
“She doesn’t.” He rubs the back of his neck. “But it wasn’t that hard to convince her, once I explained what you want to do and she looked at your website.”
“She looked at my website?” I chew my lip, heart beating wildly.
He nods, mouth tipping up into a cautious smile. “Did I go too far?”
My emotions pitch and swoop inside me. Even if I’m uncertain about my abilities, Rory believes in me and my dreams. No one’s ever done this kind of thing for me.
“No,” I whisper, running my finger along the edge of the card. “You didn’t go too far.”
Rory sits back, watching me, looking so handsome in the morning light, and I want to say a million things.
“Come here,” he says, and I carefully climb over so I’m straddling his lap. He’s warm under me, and I let my hands skim up his chest, up his neck, until my fingers sink into his messy hair.
“Thank you,” I whisper before I press a light kiss to his mouth. “I love
it.”
He hums against my lips, a low, satisfied noise that rumbles through his
chest, and I fall deeper into whatever this is with Rory Miller.
