“I didn’t get them for myself,” he says mildly.
“Do you know how expensive these are?” I stare at him, dumbfounded.
“No idea.” He tilts his head with amusement.
He bought them, idiot. Of course he knows.
I shake my head, still staring at the bag, at the absurd reality of it sitting on his marble island.
“How did you even know about these?”
“Research.” One corner of his mouth lifts.
“You researched?” I pause, looking between the set and him.
“I don’t want you fucking up my Montblanc pen. I saw you using it to doodle.” Now he’s deflecting, but what he doesn’t want to admit is that he sat down and spent time researching something I’m interested in. Went out of his way to get me something.
“So this is what, a preventative measure?” I laugh.
“Exactly.”
I clutch the gift tighter, suddenly afraid I might cry.
“Thank you,” I say, and before I can stop myself, I’m bouncing on the balls of my feet. I jump up and fling myself at him. He barely has time to register it before my arms are around his neck, my feet leaving the floor just enough for him to instinctively catch me. My hands come up to his face, cupping his jaw, warm skin under my palms.
“Thank you,” I say again, the words tumbling out as his stubble scratches my palms.
Then I kiss him, my mouth crashing into his like it’s the only place all this energy can go. My heart races, my whole body buzzes, and for a split second there’s nothing but him and the taste of him and the feel of his hands locking around my waist.
He kisses me harder, one hand sliding up my back as his mouth moves against mine with authority. It’s grounding and hungry all at once.
I pull back, breath hitching, reality crashing back in. My hands drop from his face.
“I’m sorry,” I start, then stop. “I just got excited and…”
He licks his bottom lip, and a slow, small smile curves his mouth.
“I’m glad you like them.”
He lets me go, stepping back far enough to give me space.
“I’m going to go change,” he adds casually. “Try them out.” He points at the pencils before flicking my nose.
Then he turns and walks away, leaving me clutching a Caran d’Ache set with my heart trying to punch its way out of my ribs.
I stare after him, breath uneven, cheeks burning. The joy is still bubbling, but something else entirely is coiling underneath it.
Half an hour slips by before I notice it. The house settled. The only sound now is the low murmur of the show I’m half-watching on Netflix as I go through the pencils. They respond exactly how I imagined they would.
I talked to Dannie not long ago. I told her about the call and let her scream in my ear and hype me up.
I didn’t tell her about Dom. Not the part that matters, anyway. Despite her being my best friend, I don’t trust what happens once other people know. I’ve learned that happiness gets louder when you share it, and sometimes loud things attract the wrong kind of attention.
And I don’t want this examined. Not yet.
I slide another swatch across the page and my eyes drift back to the sketch beside it.
The tuxedo.
