Point of Retreat (Slammed #2)(7)

I grin at her and take a drink. “I’m not trying to make you nervous. I’m just doing what I was told.”

She can tell I’m enjoying this. She gives up trying to get anything out of me and takes another bite of her food. “The pasta’s good, at least,” she says.

“So is the view.”

She smiles and winks at me and continues to eat.

She's wearing her hair down tonight. I love it when she wears her hair down. I also love it when she wears it up. In fact, I don't think she's ever worn it in a way that made me not love it. She’s so incredibly beautiful…especially when she’s not trying to be. I realize I’ve been staring at her, lost in thought. I've barely eaten half my food and she's almost finished.

“Will?” She finishes her last bite of food then wipes her mouth with her napkin. “Does this have anything to do with my mom?” she asks quietly. “You know…with our promise to her?”

I know what she’s asking me. I immediately feel guilty that I haven’t thought about what she would think my intentions were tonight. I don’t want her to feel like I expect anything at all from her.

“Not in that way, Babe.” I reach across and take her hand. “That’s not what tonight’s about. I’m sorry if you thought that. That’s for another time…when you’re ready.”

She smiles at me. “Well, I wasn’t gonna object if it was,” she says.

Her comment catches me off guard. I’ve gotten so used to the fact that one of us always calls retreat; I haven't really entertained the possibility of the alternative tonight.

She looks embarrassed by her forwardness and diverts her attention back down to her plate. She tears off a piece of bread and dips it in the sauce. When she’s finished eating, she takes a drink and looks back up at me.

“Before,” she whispers unsteadily. “When I asked if this had anything to do with my mom, you said ‘not in that way.’ What’d you mean by that? Are you saying tonight has something to do with her in a different way?”

I nod, then stand up and take her hand and pull her up. I wrap my arms around her and she leans against my chest and clasps her hands behind my back. “It does have to do with her, Babe.” She pulls her face away from my chest and looks up at me while I explain. “She gave me something else…besides the letters.”

Julia made me promise not to tell her about the letters and the gift until it was time to give them to her. They’ve already opened the letters; the gift was meant for Lake and I. It was intended to be a Christmas gift for us to open together, but this is the first chance we’ve had to be alone.

“Come to my bedroom.” I release my hold and grab her hand. She follows behind me until we get to my room where the box Julia gave me is sitting on the bed. Lake walks over to it and runs her hand across the wrapping paper. She fingers the red velvet bow and sighs.

“Is it really from her?” she asks quietly.

I sit on the bed and motion for her to sit with me. We pull our legs up and sit with the gift between us. There's a card taped to the top of it with our names on it; along with clear instructions not to read the card until after we open the gift.

“Will, why didn’t you tell me there was something else? Is this the last one?” I can see the tears forming in her eyes. She always tries so hard to conceal them. I don’t know why she hates it so much when she cries. I run my finger across her cheek and wipe away a tear.

“Last one, I swear,” I say. “She wanted us to open it together.”

She straightens up and does her best to regain her composure. “Do you want to do the honors, or should I?” she asks.

“That’s a dumb question,” I say.

“There’s no such thing as a dumb question,” she says. “You should know that, Mr. Cooper.” She leans forward and kisses me, then pulls back and starts to loosen the edge of the package. I watch as she tears it open, revealing a cardboard box wrapped in duct tape.

“My god, there has to be six layers of duct tape on here,” she says sarcastically. “Kind of like your car.” She looks up and gives me a sly grin.

“Funny,” I say.

I stroke her knee and watch her poke through the tape with her thumbnail. Just when she breaks through the final edge, she pauses.

“Thank you for doing this for her,” she says. “For keeping the gift.” She looks back down at it and holds it without opening it. “Do you know what it is?” she asks.

“No clue. I’m hoping it’s not a puppy-it’s been under my bed for four months.”

She laughs. “I’m nervous,” she says. “I really don’t want to cry again.” She hesitates before she finally opens the top of the box and folds the flaps back. She pulls the contents out of the box as I pull the cardboard away from it. She tears the tissue away and reveals a clear glass vase. Inside the vase, it’s full to the brim with geometrical stars in a variety of colors. It looks like origami. Hundreds of thumbnail sized 3-D paper stars.

“What is it?” I ask her.

“I don’t know, but it’s beautiful,” she says. We continue to stare at it, trying to make sense of the gift and the contents inside of it. She opens the card and looks at it. “I can’t read it, Will. You’ll have to read it.” She places it into my hands.