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“Apparently.”
“I got a calendar with all these inspirational sayings, like: People who do not succeed should never try bungee jumping.” Jack rolled his eyes.
“What? What does that mean?” she asked with a giggle.
“God knows,” Ian said.
“Pretty sure it was a death threat,” Jack added.
She broke into more laughter. “Those are terrible gifts.”
“He’s the worst. One Christmas, he got me laxatives because he said I’m always complaining that I eat too much on Christmas day,” Jack moaned.
“Oh my God.” Tears ran down her face as she laughed. She wiped them away.
“These boots actually seem too nice to give him,” Ian said. “But if you don’t want them . . .”
“No! Mine!” She lunged for them, pain shooting down her hip.
“Careful!” Jack drew her gently back while Ian gave her the box.
She hugged it to her chest even as embarrassment filled her. “Um, sorry. I don’t share very well. I think it’s because I was always given my sister’s hand-me-downs. From her clothes to her toys. They were always hers. Never mine. And I really didn’t mean to blurt that all out. I’ve got to learn to filter myself.”
“Why start now?” Ian said seriously.
“Rude,” she muttered. But she was grinning. “Are you sure you want to give me these? I know they cost a lot.”
“Think of it as an apology for the way I talked to you when you first arrived. I know I was a bit . . . bossy.” Ian sat on the bed, facing her. There was a soft look on his face.
“Um, newsflash, you haven’t changed,” she told him, barely holding back her grin as he gave her a shocked look.
Then she could no longer hold it and a giggle escaped.
“Brat,” he muttered.
She honestly couldn’t remember the last time that she’d laughed this much.
“And it’s not an apology from me since I’m not a jerk,” Jack told her. “I’m the nice one.”
Ian gaped at him. “The nice one? You?”
“Yep. Aren’t I, baby girl?”
“Hmm. Sometimes you can be nice. And sometimes you can be . . . intense.”
Something simmered in his gaze. Hot and watchful. She sucked in a breath.
Then he smiled and it disappeared.
But she’d seen it. And she couldn’t unsee it.
“Are you sure?” she asked, even as she hugged the box against her chest.
“You’re keeping the boots, Little Misfit,” Ian told her firmly. “No arguments.”
She could point out how bossy he was being right now. But since he was telling her what she wanted to hear, she decided to be magnanimous and ignore it.
“Besides, they’d have to pry these boots from my dead hands,” she muttered.
