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Her lips twisted in something that could be a grimace or smile quickly hidden. I wasn’t sure which. I wanted her to just smile at me. That would be nice.
“So, Inga Johnson didn’t tell you I order the soap from her online?” Ginger’s lips did twitch when she asked that, a smile coming to life at the corner of her lips.
“No, she never said a word. But then, I didn’t tell her who the basket was for.”
“Ah, okay,” she nodded, her jaw softening along with the rest of her features. Even her shoulders relaxed a little. “Which means you didn’t ask her what my favorite soaps were. You really did remember.”
“I really did, Ginger, yes.” I wanted to take her hands in mine and ask her for a chance, to beg her to give me one more day, but I’d done that already. My pride wouldn’t allow me to do that again. I’d done everything I knew to do, if that wasn’t enough, I’d have to call it a day, leave the basket of homemade salted caramel fudge Margery Whitlock made for me and go home to figure out what other tempting product I could think of to bring next week. Oh, I wasn’t about to give up, I just knew that doing anything else tonight, if she sent me home, would be pointless. Tomorrow, however, was another day.
“What’s in that basket?” She held out her hand and I passed over the small wicker basket filled with fudge. “Oh, candy?”
“It’s homemade. But I did buy it for you.” I knew there was a card in there from Margery with her website on the front, so she’d know I hadn’t made it.
“Are you finally going to put this man out of his misery,” a blond I’d seen perform a couple of times asked in passing and Ginger definitely glared at her.
“Hush, Tara,” Ginger hissed at the pretty woman. The woman just laughed, hugged Ginger’s neck and then turned with a flounce.
“You don’t see Johnny bringing me baskets full of goodies every week, but here you are, getting them 8 weeks in a row. I think he means it, whatever he’s saying,” Tara said with a wink over her shoulder in Ginger’s direction.
“Fuck off, Tara,” Ginger said from between gritted teeth. I’d have fucked right off if Ginger growled at me like that but Tara just chuckled and walked away. She might not be afraid of Ginger’s bite, but I was.
I swallowed hard and watched her, wondering if the woman had just ruined my chances with the woman of my literal dreams. I hoped not, but I couldn’t change it if she had.
“If I made you wait another five months, would you do that, Damien?” She finally spoke to ask me a question. I’d waited so long I’d become all but certain she was about to tell me to fuck off behind Tara.
“Well, yes. Unless you told me to stop and to never come back.” I winced, wondering if I’d given her an out.
“And if I made you wait for five years? What about that? Would you keep bringing me gift baskets every week for five years?” She seemed to be thawing out a little, even her eyes were a warmer shade of blue now, her cheeks a little pink with heat.
“I would do it for the rest of my life, so long as you kept taking my baskets, Ginger.”
“Alright,” she breathed out, twisted her lips again, but finally looked up at me with hope in her eyes. “Then stay, have a drink with me. We’ll see where it goes from there, shall we?”
“I’d like that very much. Very much,” I nodded with my answer, an unstoppable grin on my face. This was a beginning, at least.
