Blowing His Horn

“The tag has your name on it,” my dad confirmed before glancing at Leland. I could’ve sworn there was a hint of approval in his gaze, but it was there and gone too quick for me to be sure.

When I reached out to take the basket from him, he shook his head and handed it over to Leland instead. “Whoa, this sucker is heavier than I expected.”

“What did you do? Buy the whole store out?” I asked as I peered at the bottles and jars nestled in the basket. “It’ll take me forever to go through all this stuff.”

“With how much you like to take long baths? You’ll blow through them in no time at all,” Leland disagreed.

My dad stomped away, muttering, “I’m rooting for you to work things out with my daughter, kid, but I’m going to have to kick your ass if you say shit like that in front of me again.”

“Oops,” I giggled, my cheeks filling with heat as I thought about how my last long bath had ended—with a whole lot of water on my bathroom floor and several mind-blowing orgasms.

“Not exactly what I had in mind when this came, but I’ll take time alone with you however it comes,” Leland murmured as he carried the gift basket into the living room and set it on the coffee table.

I dropped onto the cushion next to him after he sat on the couch, leaning forward to uncap one of the bottles and sniff. “Pear?”

“I know you prefer strawberry-scented bath stuff, but this was as close as I could get to a partridge in a pear tree with only a few hours of planning.”

His explanation made me smile since “The Twelve Days of Christmas” was my all-time favorite holiday song. “Are you going to take a leaf from Danny’s playbook and dance for me when you get to the tenth day?”

“Hell no,” he growled, pulling me onto his lap. “Never mind. I take it back. You have to know that I’d do anything for you, Olivia.”

I searched his face, the last of my tension melting away at the sincerity in his eyes. “I do, but I might still have moments for a little while when I need you to remind me.”

“I promise to make all of this up to you.” He cupped my cheeks in his palms and lightly brushed his lips over mine. “When I’m done, you won’t have even the tiniest speck of doubt about how much I love you.”

6

Leland

I could tell that Olivia had forgiven me by the time I’d given her two chocolate doves and a French cookbook—since she loved to cook. But I wasn’t going to stop there because I wanted her to know that I would love and cherish her no matter what. Not just when I’d fucked up.

Before handing over her next package, I had her sit on the couch in her parents' living room, facing the fireplace. On the mantel was her mother’s Christmas village. Multiple small buildings and houses, each with a light inside, and a scattering of people, trees, and other fitting items. Over the last two holiday seasons, Olivia had mentioned her mother’s village whenever we passed similar sets in a store or window. There was always a wistful quality in her voice when she talked about them because she knew there was nowhere to display or store them in her room at the sorority house.

“It didn’t make sense to give you a gift like this before now,” I explained. “But we’ll be graduating in a few months and moving in together”—I gave her a hard look so she knew that part wasn’t negotiable—“into an apartment where you can show off your collection each holiday.”

Olivia tilted her head to the side and gave me a curious glance, though at my statement about moving in together, the corners of her lips had lifted. She took the package from my hands and ripped open the paper, gasping when she saw the box with a picture of a porcelain house that had been meticulously painted with lots of detail. Four calling birds were perched on the roof, mouths open as if about to sing.

“This is from the Dickens Village!” she exclaimed as she opened the box and withdrew the carefully wrapped house.

“I wanted to be the first one to contribute to your village. I know you’ll get your mom’s someday, but I was thinking that these—this village could be ours.”

Olivia practically melted into me, and I bent my head to press my lips to hers. The clearing of a throat ended our embrace, and I mentally rolled my eyes while Olivia glared at her dad. He started whistling and walked off as if he’d wandered into the room by mistake when I damn well knew he’d interrupted us on purpose.

“I love it,” she whispered when he was gone. “Thank you.”