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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 way I’ve always wanted to be if I weren’t so gun-shy when it comes to relationships.
“I love them so much,” I say as I kiss his cheek, leaving a lipstick mark behind. “Love, love, love.”
“I’m so glad,” he says as he sets me back on my feet. “I was looking for a necklace, but they didn’t have any that were just right. I’m a picky bastard when it comes to jewelry.”
A part of me wants to stress about how many women he’s bought jewelry for before me, but I ignore that voice. I don’t have to be jealous of the women from his past. Because I’m his present, and maybe his future.
I reach up to cup his face and sigh. “This is going to make it much harder to relish crushing you beneath my high-heeled Mary Janes in round two.”
“Yeah, about that,” he says, and then his mouth keeps moving and he says things that are so wonderfully generous and sweet that for a moment I’m struck full force by an insane thought—He loves me. Like, really loves me—but thankfully I realize how crazy that is before I say something stupid.
He just isn’t as serious about cooking or this competition as I am.
Or…something.
Or maybe his competitive streak is taking a day off.
Whatever it is, I hurry to assure him, “No way! Stop it. I wouldn’t dream of asking you to drop out.”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” he says. “And I truly don’t mind, either way. It’s your call. I just wanted you to know the offer was on the table, if you think it might help you win.” He clears his throat and looks around, before leaning in to add in a faux confidential voice of his own, “I’m pretty keen to date the next Mrs. Sweets. It’s a status thing. Make my friends wickedly jealous.”
