bag. I feel the distinct edge of a paperback book and pull it out.
The cover looks familiar, and I realize why when I read the title. “Franny and Zooey—I’ve been meaning to read this. I loved The Catcher in the Rye when …”
I stop myself before I can say, when I was in high school. Because it wasn’t that long ago. The last thing I want is to ruin this moment with a reminder of my age.
“I know the spelling is different, and the Zooey in the book is a guy, but it just seemed like—”
“Gavin.” I interrupt his rambling. He stops when he sees my smile. “I love it.”
“Look inside,” he says.
I start to flip the pages and find a gift card to Mozart’s, my favorite local coffee shop. I stare down at it. This shouldn’t feel so momentous. But it is.
“How did you know?” I ask, unable to look at Gavin.
“I saw the name on your cups. It’s actually not far from my house if you cut over on Redbud. It’s a pretty drive. Anyway.”
He waves a hand, then clears his throat and shuffles on his feet. When Gavin was sick, I saw him at his most physically vulnerable. But this is something altogether different.
This is Gavin letting me in, revealing an emotional vulnerability. This is a conscious choice. His choice, to be himself with me. Not Gavin, my boss. It’s Gavin, the man I’ve always wanted to know more.
“Open the second one,” Gavin says, nudging the bag. His voice is lower, huskier. It’s not a tone I’ve heard before, and it’s even sexier than his serious alpha voice.
I tuck the gift card inside the book and set it on the bed, feeling my hands tremble.
Pull it together, Zoey.
But as I pull aside the tissue paper in the second bag, revealing a small, square box, the kind meant for jewelry, I’m the furthest thing from pulled together. I feel like Gavin has found a loose string and tugged, pulling me apart at the seams.
I cannot look up at him, holding the navy blue box in one hand and the gift bag in the other. “I can’t,” I say, staring down at my hands, willing them to be still.
Instantly, Gavin’s large hands engulf mine. He first eases the gift bag from my left hand, dropping it to the floor. And then he takes the box from my other hand. I wrap my arms around my waist, trying to hold myself together.
To feel this much over something so small is ridiculous. I’m like a child next to him, all emotions where he’s so steady. How must he see me?
“Zoey.”
Gavin rests a hand on my cheek, and it’s all I can do not to lean into his touch. I have to hold myself in check. He slides two fingers along my jaw and gently lifts my chin until I’m meeting his eyes. I’ve catalogued so many of Gavin’s expressions over the years, but this one is entirely new.
“Why don’t you want to open it?” His tone is gentle, coaxing, yet still with an underlying command I can’t ignore.
“It’s too much. This is all … too much.”
“Or maybe,” Gavin says, pressing the box back into my hands, “maybe it’s just right. New, scary, unknown. But right.”
My mouth goes dry at his words. I want to believe what I see in his eyes, which looks an awful lot like a promise that he hasn’t yet made in words. I want to pinch myself. Can this really be happening? Just days ago, Gavin and I were in the office, being professional. Now, I’ve snuggled with him in bed, running my fingers through his hair while he slept. I introduced him to his daughter. I’ve met his parents.
Let’s not forget that I dragged his unconscious body through his house.
And you know what? It does feel right. On paper, Gavin and I make no sense. We’re a bad idea. In reality? I feel more and more like we are a perfect fit. Not in some fantasy I’m creating in my mind, but in a very messy reality.
Gavin’s fingers drop from my chin, skating along my arm before he steps back, giving me a little space. With a steadying breath, I open the jewelry box. Inside is a delicate silver chain with a deep blue stone at the end. I don’t know my jewelry well, but I think it’s a sapphire. It looks expensive, and beautiful.