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Gavin loves to kiss me for so long that I lose track of time, and I love it when he does that. But now, he gazes at me steadily, as if he's considering how to start saying whatever it is he clearly wants to tell me. Abruptly, his expression turns anxious, and he swallows hard enough that I can see the movement in his throat. He winces the tiniest bit.
My smile falters. "What's wrong, Gav?"
"Nothing, I---Uh, well, see..."
"You can tell me, whatever it is." I peck a light kiss on his lips. "Do you trust me?"
He gulps again and stops blinking. "You know I do."
"Then tell me. I'm tougher than I look."
He just stares at me.
Is proposing such a difficult thing to do? I wouldn't think so, but then, I am not a man. They can be such numpties about love sometimes. "You think about it while I powder my nose."
"Your nose looks fine to me."
I laugh softly, charmed by his statement because it's such an innocently barmy thing to say. "It's a polite way of telling you I need to piss."
His brows shoot up, though I can't imagine that he's shocked that I used a vulgar word. Gavin hears me curse all the time.
I rise from my chair and kiss his forehead. "I'll be a minute."
After a brief trip to the restroom, I swiftly make my way through the café. I feel lighter today, as if I might float up into the sky. This has been the best day I've had in a long time, and I just know Gavin has something up his sleeve. But when I walk into the outdoor patio, I see him sitting at our table with his head bowed and his hands tightly clasped on the tabletop. Then he rubs his eyes.
Maybe he's just a wee bit anxious about popping the question.
"Here I am," I announce as I reclaim my seat beside Gavin. "What was it you wanted to talk about?"
He sits up straighter and lifts his chin.
"You okay?" I ask, tipping my head to study him. "The flight from America has you knackered, doesn't it? We can talk later."
"No," he snaps. "Now. We should, uh, talk now. I'm going home tomorrow."
I know that already. Why did he feel the need to remind me? Nerves, I assume. So, I lean toward him. "Go on, Gavin. I'm listening."
He winces again. Then he surreptitiously shoves a hand into his trouser pocket. Well, not that surreptitiously since I saw him do it. He clearly hoped I wouldn't notice.
Go on, Gavin, just do it. Ask me. He must know I'll say yes. How could he believe otherwise?
He yanks an object out of his pocket and...thrusts a slender, flat rectangular object at me. "This is for you. It's so you can get miles to use for travel expenses."
Miles? What the bloody sodding hell is he havering about? I gawp at the credit card he just offered me, unable to move or speak for several seconds that feel like hours. I gingerly accept the credit card, holding the very edge of one corner between my thumb and forefinger. I cannae help curling my lip, though not from disgust. It's from utter confusion. "I don't need miles, Gavin. We both fly on Rory's jet."
His face blanches. His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. His lips work as if he cannae cobble together even one sentence. And he clamps his fingers around the ring box. "I got one of those credit cards where you earn miles with every purchase. Made you an authorized user on it. This'll, uh, help pay for---expenses. When you visit me."
"You said this already." My lips begin to quiver. My pulse races, though not in a good way, and I feel the first sting of tears in my eyes. "I reminded you I don't need a bloody credit card. Is this why you brought me here? To a romantic restaurant? This is the important thing you needed to tell me? After eighteen months together, this is all you think I'm worth."
He shakes his head slowly, minutely, while his eyes remain wide. He says nothing.
Tears trickle down my cheeks even while I want to grab him by the throat and bash his head onto the table repeatedly. I love him, and he claims to love me. If that's true, how could he hand me a credit card as if it's a wonderful gift? He must have realized I'd assume he meant to ask me to marry him. After all these months, nearly two years together, this is what he thinks of me? I need a fucking credit card? No, I need him. I want to spend the rest of my life with Gavin Douglas. Yet he just smacked me in the face, metaphorically.
"You're an eejit, Gavin. A bod ceann and an eejit, and I'm done."
"Jamie---"
I leap out of my chair so quickly that it topples over, but I can't worry about that or anything right now. I fling the credit card at him. It lands on his lap. "I cannae do this anymore, Gavin. It's over."
