The Failing Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #2)(40)

I can see he’s getting frustrated. Know it when he runs a hand through his thick black hair.

“I’m sorry I keep asking questions.” I sit up straighter in my seat, interested. Curious. “What is it?”

Oops, there I go again.

In the dimly lit cab of his truck, with his face shrouded in shadows, Zeke lifts the center console, fishing out a small box. He holds it up in the palm of his hand, and I can see that it’s a black and silver jewelry box.

“Just take it.”

I falter when reaching for it.

“I-I can’t b-believe you actually got me a gift.” The wonder in my voice fills the cab of the truck. “I thought you were joking.”

I’m not trying to be deliberately obtuse, but Zeke Daniels has truly stunned me.

“No.”

“No, it’s not a gift?”

“No, I—Jesus Violet, can’t you just open the damn thing?”

I’m not purposely pressing him, but the questions just keep slipping past my lips before I can stop them.

It’s a black, square box—one I’m very familiar with—and I hold my breath when I go to pry open the top, revealing the velvet jewelry pouch inside. I glance to find Zeke staring at me out of the darkness, expression unreadable.

Mouth in a firm line. Eyes hooded but impassive.

“Can you just fucking open it,” he grunts, moody. “You’re taking forever.”

My heart beats a million miles an hour inside my chest, so hard I can almost hear it. I can see how impatient he’s becoming by the way his eyes intently trail the movement my fingers make over the black bag.

“You’re being really obnoxious, do you realize that?”

So antsy, this guy. Like a child.

“I think it’s c-cute that you’re excited.”

Oh my god, did I actually just call him cute—and stutter while I did it? How freaking embarrassing.

“I meant to say it’s cute when you’re excited—not you’re cute.”

Stop talking, Violet!

But I don’t. Can’t. “I wish it wasn’t so dark it here; I want to remember this moment.” Oh my god, why am I saying these things out loud?

“Turn the damn light on then.”

So I do. I reach up and flick the overhead lamp on, then stare down at the black velvet pouch, concentrating on the size and texture of it.

Of this gift from him.

I glance up at Zeke, and I think he’s…

Blushing.

Honest-to-god blushing.

Shakes his head and turns away, staring out the window into my dark neighborhood.

Biting down on my lower lip, I return to the task at hand, drawing at the gold strings on the black velvet bag. Pluck it open with nimble fingers. Dip inside, index finger and thumb hooking the delicate gold bangle I know will be inside. Slide it gently out until it’s lying flat on my palm.

Lift it to my face to study it in the dim light.

It’s a bracelet from tonight’s silent auction.

Together, Linda and I had strolled the room, considering each auction item one at a time like we were actually considering buying them: “That would be fun!” Linda declared about a weekend waterpark getaway. “I’ll wear my new suit!”

“Now what on earth would I do with all of that?” she’d asked when we walked past a barbequing set. “Guess I’ll have to get a fancy new apron!”

Then, we’d come to the beauty and apparel items. Spa retreats. Nail salon vouchers. Scarves and handcrafted necklaces.

The bracelet.

My fingers go to the charm dangling from the thin band of gold, the stamped icon precisely as I knew it would be.

Two-sided disk, gold and silver, a sunflower bursting open on one side. The words Everything happens for a reason on the other.

I remember exactly what the auction description of the bracelet said, because Linda and I had studied it closely.

A surprising strength, this optimistic flower rises up from the ground, turning its petals toward the sun. It breathes life into all in its presence. Bright. Radiates happiness. Colorful petals and resilient roots. The sunflower gives others the encouragement to seek joy, even on the gloomiest days. Celebrate your power; it grows from that ever-positive light within you.

I remember what I said when I straightened after reading the blurb: “I wish I had the money to bid on it.”

She must have told Zeke I’d fallen in love with it.

“I love it, Zeke.” I breathe deeply. “I love it.”

And I do.

Not only because I’ve never received a gift for absolutely no reason, but because it’s so beautiful. It represents a part of my life I hope to embody: shiny, new, and full of symbolism. Like the rest of the bangles lining my wrist, this one too tells a piece of my story. Positive is how I live. Take the wheel. Zodiac. Guardian angel.

My eyes squeeze shut as I clasp the charm in a clenched fist, the metal warming to my touch; I saw the bids for this imitation gold trinket, saw how expensive it was.

It’s not even real precious metal and it was going for an outrageous amount of money.

Before I can stop it from escaping, a single wet tear glides out the corner of my eye and down my cheek.

I wipe it away.

“Thank you.”

Zeke grumbles in reply, the sound rumbling from his chest as he reaches up and flips off the overhead light.