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Warmth sparked in my stomach.
I asked for the same decor every year. Changing it annually was a waste of time and efficiency, and I’d never thought much about it. But seeing them through her eyes made me appreciate the details just a little more.
“I could keep them up,” I said. “But then there’d be no fall decor, Halloween decor, Lunar New Year decor…”
“Good point.” She dropped her hand with another sigh. “I hate how you keep making those.”
Our food arrived with surprising speed, and after some debate over Netflix versus board games, we settled into increasingly competitive rounds of Scrabble over cinnamon roll pancakes, champagne donuts, eggs Benedict, and sweet potato hash.
“Vizcacha? Are you kidding?” Isabella slapped her palm against the board when I won the third round in a row. “How do youcome upwith these words?”
“You came up withquetzalsin the last round,” I pointed out.
“One, I visited Guatemala in college, and two, I still lost.” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you cheating?”
“I don’t need to cheat,” I said, offended. “Cheating is for the intellectually lazy and dishonest.”
Isabella came close to beating me a few times, but we finished with a final score of five to zero. I almost let her win at the end, but she wouldn’t take kindly to a pity loss from me. Plus, the thought of willingly giving up a victory curdled like bile in my stomach.
Other than her vizcacha outburst, she took the outcome in stride.
“I have something for you,” she said after we finished our food and put away the Scrabble board. “I know we didn’t say anything about presents, but I saw this and couldn’t resist.”
She reached into her bag and handed me a brown paper-wrapped package. It readTo Kai. Merry Christmas!!in her signature loopy cursive. Red hearts dotted thei’s and matched the red bow.
A pang pierced my gut at the sight of the hand-drawn hearts.
I unwrapped the present methodically, taking great care not to rip the paper or the bow. The wrapping fell away, revealing a book unlike any I’d encountered before.
I stared at the cover, too flummoxed to form a coherent response. “Is this…”
“A signed copy ofA Raptor Ripped My Bodice, the latest dino erotica by Wilma Pebbles,” Isabella confirmed. “It’s a hot commodity since Wilma only sells a small number of autographed books every year. I literally had three screens up at the same time so I could snag one before they sold out. Congratulations.” Her dimples deepened. “Your literary collection is now complete. Also, you have something new to translate when the board pisses you off. I bet it’ll be more relaxing than translating Hemingway.”
If the hearts had cracked the outer wall of my defenses, the present—and her explanation—demolished it beyond repair.
I’d received countless gifts in my life. A customized Audi for my sixteenth birthday; a limited-edition Vacheron Constantin watch when I was accepted into Oxford; a penthouse atop the Peak in Hong Kong when I graduated from Cambridge with my master’s. None of them touched me as much as a flimsy paperback of velociraptor erotica.
“Thank you,” I said, trying to make sense of the odd tightness in my chest. I sincerely hoped I wasn’t in the early throes of a heart attack. That would ruin Christmas forevermore for all parties involved.
“Wait, that’s not all.” Isabella pulled a manila envelope from her bag.
“Does the raptor have a brother who also enjoys a good bodice rip?” I teased.
“Ha ha. As a matter of fact, hedoes, but you’re not ready for the kinks inthatbook. No. This is, um, my manuscript so far.” Isabella handed the envelope to me with a noticeably nervous expression. “I’m not sure whether it counts as a gift since I can’t guarantee it’s good, but you wanted to read it, so here it is. Just promise you won’t read it untilafterI’m gone.”
Forget what I said about the book. Isabella trusting me with her work in progress was…
Fuck. I swallowed past the creeping pressure in my throat.
“I promise.” I tucked the envelope beneath Wilma Pebbles and retrieved a box from beneath the tree. Most of the gifts were for show; only two were exceptions. “On that note, I also have a surprise for you. It seems we were on the same page about presents.”
Isabella’s face lit up. “Ilovesurprises.” She took the box and shook it gently. A rattling sound ensued. “What is it? Makeup? Shoes? A new laptop?”
I laughed. “Open it and find out.”
Isabella didn’t have my hang-up about preserving the wrapping paper. She tore through the metallic foil without hesitation, revealing a simple black box.
An unfamiliar rush of anxiety shot through me when she removed the lid and went utterly still.
