get ready for the contest and just hasn’t had the chance to text.
But I’m still nervous.
Fidgety.
So on edge that when a low voice purrs behind me, “Excuse me, are these ears taken?” I jump several inches in the air and let out a squeal that makes everyone in front of me turn to stare.
I wave at the concerned Coney Island citizens—tourists, clearly, judging by the gaudy T-shirts and the hands full of hot dogs and overpriced cotton candy—and turn to West.
“You can’t sneak up on me,” I say with a laugh as I swat at the general vicinity of his stomach. “I’m high strung before battle.”
“Sorry.” He looks gorgeous in a white button-down, navy tie, and a gray suit vest and pants with his cooking bag slung over his shoulder.
I can’t resist the urge to reach out and tweak his collar. “You look amazing.”
“Same to you, gorgeous.” His gaze gobbles me up in a way that makes me feel gorgeous—and silly for being nervous. Clearly West is every bit as happy to see me as I am to see him. He holds out his wrist with a grin. “Thank you for the gift. They’re perfect.”
I glance down, taking his hand in mine and spinning the little teacup cufflink with a satisfied sigh. “They are. If I do say so myself. Which I do.”
“And you should.” He reaches into his pocket with his free hand. “I was so touched that I had to get you a little something in return.”
Beaming, I accept the medium-sized blue velvet jewelry box. “Oh, you didn’t have to. I love giving gifts, but I never expect anything in return.”
“Of course you don’t, because you’re lovely, inside and out,” he says, making my heart squeeze and my throat a little tight.
God, it feels like I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear that. And to see someone look at me like I’m the best gift he’s ever found under his Christmas tree or anywhere else.
“But it’s high time someone spoiled you the way you deserve,” he continues, nodding toward the box. “We’ll start with this and carry on with the spoiling after the contest. Assuming you’re free and interested in spending some time with your boyfriend?”
Ohhh.
Well, hello there, yummy word.
It’s exactly what I want. Precisely what I was hoping for, but I hardly dared to let myself believe he’d be ready for that so soon.
But he is, and I am giddy with happiness from one perfect word that sums up what he is to me.
I grin harder. “The answer to both is yes.” I lower my voice and add with more confidence than I feel, “And don’t tell anyone, but I feel very fizzy inside when you talk about being my boyfriend.”
He laughs. “Good. Now open it, woman, the suspense is killing me.”
“Okay.” I creak open the box, expecting something sweet and pie-themed in keeping with my gift. Instead, I reveal a pair of tasteful but clearly insanely fucking expensive sapphire and diamond chandelier earrings. My jaw drops. “Those aren’t…real. Are they?” I ask, though my sparkly-sense has never failed me before.
“Of course, they are,” he scoffs. “I’m not going to buy you rot-gut jewelry that’ll turn your lovely ears green.” He reaches into his bag. “Try them on. And if you decide you’d rather return them for something else, that’s completely fine.”
My jaw fully unhinges, but I finally manage to stammer as I slip the earrings in, “Shut your face. I’m not taking them back. I may never take them off. They’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Nah,” he says, though he’s clearly pleased as he grabs his phone from his pocket, turns it to selfie mode, and holds it up in front of me. The makeshift mirror gives me an up-close-and-personal view of the stunning jewelry. He seems even more delighted with the way I melt when he adds, “You’re the most beautiful. But the stones do match your eyes. I hoped they would.”
The line should sound cheesy, I suppose. But the way he says it—so offhand, like he’s simply announcing a commonly known fact—makes me want to laugh and cry and kiss him all at the same time.
I decide kissing is the best call and jump into his arms, making him laugh as he tries to juggle his bag, his phone, and me all at once.
But he manages. Of course, he does.
He’s West and he’s amazing.
And he’s mine.
For real, mine, and he seems to like me just as I am. Or…even better, the