I feel numb. Numb and tingly, like a foot that’s fallen asleep. Except I’m getting those pins and needles and shivers all over. The hair on the back of my arms is also standing straight up, and there are goosebumps all over.
I just can’t believe Wilder bought this for me.
Is it ultra-sketchy or just super-duper crazy nice?
I’m not actually sure, and I can’t say which way the scales are going to tip, but I can say that I can feel the tears burning up my nose and brimming in my eyes. I know that in five seconds, I’m about to turn into a raging ‘bawlasaurus.’ Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Yup, here it comes.
The tears well up, then the tears fall down—big, huge, watery, wet tears that coat my cheeks. The waterworks are unexpected and annoying because I hate crying. And I especially hate crying when I’m not sure why I’m even crying.
I’m still crying when Wilder walks into the room. I didn’t hear him coming up the stairs, and I don’t think he was trying to be stealthy, so I must have been crying pretty loudly.
“Esme?” He asks, concerned and confused. “Are you okay? I didn’t know you were home.”
“T-the s-s-sewing m-m-machine,” I sob. I swipe at the back of my eyes ineffectually, but Wilder gets the message.
“Oh! Oh no. No, your other one…it’s just downstairs. I brought it to a repair shop this morning to see if they could fix it, but they said it was pooched. They recommended this one and gave me a shop name, so I went and got it.”
“No! No, no, no, no!”
“But…but why? You don’t like it? That’s alright. I kept the receipt. Actually, all I did was take it out of the box and set it there to surprise you. You can take it back and get what you want if you don’t like this one.”
“It’s not that!” I blubber and snort and wipe at my teary eyes some more. “It’s just…it’s… why? Why would you buy that? They’re so expensive! This is the kind of thing I would spend the rest of my life working for. And now, if I keep it, I’m indebted to you for at least that long, and if I don’t, then I’ll have to get something only a fraction as good, and this moment will haunt me for the rest of my life because I was so close. I was so, so close.”
Wilder sighs and smiles at the same time. He must have many hidden talents I didn’t know about because I wasn’t aware it was possible to do both of those things at once.
“I’m sorry if you’re angry. You weren’t supposed to be angry, and you weren’t supposed to cry. I can, uh, I can afford it, and I wanted to do it. You don’t owe me anything.”
“I do! And I hate being in debt to anyone!”
Wilder shrugs. I half expect him to crack some wise arse remark about me paying him back in special favors, and if that’s the case, I’m going to throw this sewing machine straight out the window like I was planning on doing to the other one. And then let him try and return it.
No, no, farge on a barge, I couldn’t do that.
“I’ll pay you back,” I groan. “A little bit every month, for the rest of my life if I have to.”
“You can if you want, but you don’t have to.”
Argh! I’m torn between turning into a blubbering, ugly crying mess again or stamping my foot and throwing a little bit of a fit. Why does this man have to be so infuriating? Why does it matter to him so much? Who on earth would do something like this for someone they barely know and not expect something in return? Everyone has an angle. Everyone has an agenda. I just have no idea what Wilder’s is. He was scooping cat litter when I walked in because I told him to. Because I said scoop the cat litter, fix my machine, blah, blah, blah, and we can be friends.
It just doesn’t make any sense.
Through my blurry eyes, I can see Wilder trying to smile at me. He’s trying, but he’s also uncertain if it’s the right move. He looks guarded, too, like I might kick him in the balls or throw the machine at him instead of the window or something.
Jesus.
I would never do any of that.
But I’m still just so confused.
I’m confused because, even through my blurry eyes, I can see how…how…well, how delicious Wilder looks in those perfectly fitted faded jeans and a hoodie with a white logo on it that I can’t read. Who wears a hoodie in California? Who looks that good wearing a hoodie in California? Who smells that good wearing a hoodie in California?