Dropping the Ball

41. Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Six

Kaitlyn

For the next ten days, Micah makes sure each one has Christmas in it. One day it’s walking into the office to find an enormous poinsettia threatening the health and well-being of our waiting area furniture. On another day, he shows up at my house with a twelve-foot Douglas fir tied to his truck and proceeds to decorate it while I study on the sofa. He covers it in white lights and hangs it with his handmade ornaments. I’ve never loved a Christmas tree more.

Mostly, Micah focuses on small things. Making peppermint hot cocoa for us to sip while we’re in his workshop one night. Bringing Daisy Buchanan a felt mouse wearing a Santa hat.

Work never stops, but it’s mostly management. Signing off on a proof of the auction guide. Requesting changes to the video the media company produced.

My hardest job is figuring out what to get Micah for Christmas when I have no time to shop.

When I once again find myself wishing for more time in a day—time to enjoy a full lunch hour, time to plan structured dates with Micah—I realize I know the perfect gift.

He comes over Christmas morning. Christmas Eve was the big event with his mom, Christmas night is the big deal for the Armstrongs. We’re going to spend the whole day together until I leave for my parents’ place at 5:00.

I’ve told him I’m in charge of our Christmas since he’s had to do all the rest of the work. When he walks in at 9:00 AM dressed in a Christmas sweater as requested, I have a breakfast of stuffed French toast, bacon, and sweet potato hash waiting, along with pomegranate mimosas garnished with sugared cranberries and rosemary.

He grabs his heart. “I have not been a good enough boy to have earned this.”

I jump into his arms and kiss him. “Are you kidding? Not only do you deserve this, we should probably give you the Mustang from the auction as a bonus.”

“I accept.”

“Even if it’s just breakfast, no Mustang?”

“Especially because it’s your breakfast.”

We sit across from each other at the starling table, the amber flecks looking festive with the red and gold place settings I chose. He gives his report from Christmas Eve at his uncle’s house, and I smile the whole time, even at the parts that aren’t funny.

“Are you laughing at me?” he asks, half smiling back as he finishes his story.

“No. I’m . . . happy.” Getting to spend all day with him, that’s the gift.

“Remember you said that when you’re enduring it next year,” he teases.

My heart gives an extra thump like it does anytime he says things like that. Like mentioning us and next Christmas together in the same sentence.

I didn’t think I was someone who needs to hear “I love you.” It was nice when my last boyfriend said it. I even said it back. But I crave it from Micah.

This is so very, very different.

When breakfast is done, we clear the table and wash our plates, and I smile again at how much I enjoy doing simple things with him.

“What do we do now?” he asks as he dries the last plate. “Watch some football?”

“You want to watch football on Christmas?”

“Those men are giving up time with their families. The least we can do is honor that.”

“Are you being serious?”

“Nope.”

I pop him with the dish towel, a skill I didn’t even know I had. “You’re about to go on the naughty list. I guess we aren’t doing presents next.”

He grabs the dish towel and wraps it behind my back, pulling me in. “Yes to the naughty list.” He gives me a kiss that tastes like French toast and pomegranate. “But also yes to presents, please.”

I kiss him back. “Or maybe this for the rest of the day.”

He drops the dish towel and boosts me up on the counter. “Definitely yes to this.”

Eventually, we get to the gifts. I’m beard burned and my lips are swollen, but it’s a new tradition we’re definitely keeping.

I sit in front of the Christmas tree and Micah settles across from me, two wrapped gifts beside him. Daisy Buchanan makes her appearance, arriving out of nowhere like a Christmas ninja as she pounces into the cradle of Micah’s crisscrossed legs.

“Merry Christmas, Daisy,” he says. “Maybe we should do your present first?”

She flicks her tail.

“She’ll allow it,” I interpret for Micah.

“All right, Mrs. Buchanan. I got you this.” He unwraps the smaller gift to reveal a cat collar bejeweled with rhinestones, art deco style.

I’m the one who purrs. “Flawless.”

“Should I put it on her?” he asks.

“Not if you want to keep your hands.”

“I’ll let you do it when she’s in the mood.”

“My turn.” I reach for his gift under the tree, sure he can figure out by looking that it’s a watch box.

He unwraps it, his eyes widening when he opens it to reveal a classic TAG Heuer, a steel three-hand style with a black face. “This is really nice.”

“It’s an entry-level watch if that makes you feel better,” I say. “It’s not expensive enough that you have to call it a timepiece. I chose one they described as ‘virtually indestructible’ so you can wear it to jobsites if you want. Not that you have to. Actually, this isn’t even—”

He leans over to kiss me. “I love it. I know we haven’t talked about money, but—”

“We don’t need to,” I tell him. “Not today. We can discuss whether my millionaire status is weird for you some other time.”

He laughs. “Fair enough.”

“That’s not even the gift,” I tell him. “I wanted you to have something to unwrap, but it’s more of a symbol.”

He pretends to think. “Time is running out? Kill time? A stitch in—”

“It’s the present.” When he cocks his head, waiting, I explain, “Your present is the present. As in I’m going to be more present.”

“Babe, I—” He stops, and we both break out laughing.

“Babe?” I gasp on a giggle.

“That sounded weird, didn’t it?”

“Yes, but no one has ever called me babe, and I like it. Keep going.”

“Babe”—he pauses for more giggling—“you don’t have to make up for how busy you are. You’re doing good things. It’s one of the things I . . .”

I hold my breath.

“That I admire about you.”

Oh, cool.

I take the box from him and slide the watch off. “I’m not apologizing. I know you get it. But I’ve been thinking more about what I want. What makes me happy. It’s changing a few priorities for me next year.”

“Oh, yeah?” The lines around his eyes doing their pre-smile activation. “Tell me more.”

“The bar exam, for example. I’ll still take it in February, but I’m cutting way back on the studying. If I don’t pass, I’ll try again in July.”

“Katie-Kat, you want to spend more time with me?”

“You’re not the worst.” I squeak as he hauls me into his lap.

“I accept,” he says, pressing a kiss against my neck. “We are building a relationship. Which brings us to your gift.”

He picks it up and sets it in my lap. It’s about the size of a Kleenex box, and it’s light.

I untie the ribbon and pull off the wrapping paper to reveal a Christmas corsage with red and white roses and gold-edged ribbon. It’s very pretty but also confusing. Before I can figure out what to say or possibly ask, Micah is lifting it out of its plastic box.

“I never got to ask you to prom,” he says, lifting my wrist to gently slide the corsage over it. “But I have this incredible event next week, and I wondered if you’ll be my date to the Threadwork Discovery Gala on New Year’s Eve.”

I slip out of his lap so I can kneel in front of him and look him in the eye. “Yes.”

“Yes to the gala at which I don’t expect you to wear this corsage?” he asks, smiling.

I reach out to cup his face, running my thumb over his cheekbone, loving the way the lights on the tree reflect in his brown eyes, giving them a Christmas gold warmth.

“Yes to this.” I lean in to kiss him. “This and everything.”