“I wasn’t sure what to get you,” he said, in case she didn’t like it. “I had to make a guess based on things you’ve told me and things I’ve observed—if you don’t like it, that’s okay.”
Shooting him a grin, she said, “I’m going to love it.”
“You don’t even know what it is yet.”
“Well, there’s bubble wrap, so this is already a win,” she informed him, peeling away the layer of bubble wrap around the present, which was also encased between pieces of cardboard. “Damn, they wrapped it for you.” Once she made it past the cardboard—which was easier, since he had taken it out to check it earlier, so he had already cut the tape—there was still a layer of foam wrap.
“I should’ve left that off—I wrapped it back up the way they sent it.”
She was glancing at him oddly since the package was unwrapped enough that she could feel what it was. His earlier doubts that it was a stupid present started to creep back in and he glanced down at the much smaller box he had placed behind that one—the back-up/forgive-me gift.
Once she got the foam wrap off, there was still a protective layer of plastic wrap, but the gift itself was clearly visible.
She held it up, studying the picture with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher. He had ordered a canvas painting of Paris that was painted to emulate the style from Van Gogh’s Starry Night. He didn’t know what her favorite painting was and hadn’t wanted to ask, so he went through photos on her Facebook page—where she had used several romantic, night-time Paris pictures and a photo of the Starry Night as cover photos before—and tried to gauge her taste that way. When he browsed the paintings available online, he’d picked the one that most closely resembled the atmosphere of the photos she had used.
It clearly was not what she expected, and he started to tell her it was just something he bought on a whim, and he had a back-up gift. Before he could, Willow put the painting down, stood up, and threw her arms around his neck.
The concern that she wouldn’t like it eased up and he moved his arms, wrapping her a little tighter against his body. Instead of pulling back, she nuzzled against him, both of her arms locked securely around his neck.
“So, you like it?” he asked lightly.
“Ethan, I love it so much. It’s beautiful.”
“Better than a pony?” he teased.
“Infinitely better than a pony.” Leaning back slightly, she held onto his face and placed a soft, lingering kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”
When she pulled back again, he caught a lock of her hair between his fingers, lightly rubbing it before tucking it behind her ear. “You’re welcome.”
Willow leaned against him again, her right arm tightening around his waist, the other curling around his neck as she
nuzzled her face back into his shoulder. Affection rushed over her as she breathed him in, closing her eyes when he began lightly running his fingers across her back.
It was more than a thoughtful gift—it was perfect. It was something she would have picked out for herself, and he had clearly been paying attention in order to glean that knowledge—especially since she had only even mentioned her interest in art on one or two occasions. Paris she was confident she had only mentioned once.
It was also something that Brian, as nice as he was, would never have picked out for her. Even though she knew she shouldn’t compare, it was impossible not to; Brian had given her a bottle of Jim Beam and a humorous card for her graduation present.
He might be a million times easier and piss her off almost never, but he also didn’t get her the way Ethan did.
Ethan might be a territorial pain in the ass sometimes, but dammit, she wanted him to be her pain in the ass.
For a couple minutes she stayed like that, yearning to remain in his arms for as long as she could, right and wrong be damned.
While she knew she cared about Ethan, wanted Ethan, she wasn’t entirely sure she could depend on Ethan—not yet. Not in a romantic relationship, anyway. She remembered all too well the hollow, cheap feeling of being abandoned after both of their sexual encounters, and while she hadn’t been able to say much about it under the circumstances, it still sucked. And he was still only separated, not divorced, which could be a potential complication.
She also wasn’t allowed to be with Ethan. Which would mean lying and sneaking around. Which would mean risking her parents possibly pulling her college fund if they caught her.
Then there was the fact that when she had asked him outright if they would be dating if she would’ve shown up single, he hadn’t been able to tell her yes.
As much as she wanted him, Ethan was a gamble.
Seeking to distract herself, she asked, “So, where do we stand on that movie?”
He took her by the hand, causing her stupid heart to flutter, and guided her back to the couch, moving the painting to the floor and sitting in the corner. Instead of letting her go to the other end of the couch to keep things friendly, he tugged her into the seat directly beside his, so that their hands remained entwined and their sides were touching.
As she watched him push buttons on the remote to start whatever movie they were going to watch, Willow ached to climb right into his lap and kiss him. He was wearing a navy blue button down shirt with black slacks, and she wanted to slip each button through the appropriate hole and violently rip the damn thing off him, even knowing he probably had a cursed undershirt beneath it that she would have to contend with. She wanted him naked, his mouth on hers, their bodies as closely intertwined as two people could be.
She knew he wanted that too, but she wasn’t sure he wanted anything else. She knew he cared about her, but she wasn’t at all sure he actually wanted to date her.