“I told you. I’m on your list. I guess you gave the okay on Saturday night and Stephan added me. Now I only have to say hello and be on my way.” He smiles wide, his dazzling teeth in a perfect row.
“Remind me to take him off my Christmas list.” I turn away from the door, leaving him standing there and make a quick check that everything is turned off.
A clearing of a throat tears my attention away from clicking on a small table lamp.
“Do you mind if I come in?” He stands there, rocking back on his heels with his hands behind him.
“Uh. Aren’t we going to dinner?”
“Yes but first,” He swings his arms around and presents a black box tied with black satin bow to me with a bouquet of…
“Are those poppies?” My hands instinctively reach out to cradle the beautiful flowers.
I stick my nose in the lavender and purple bouquet, but the aroma is so faint it’s almost nothing at all.
“Yeah. Apparently those are really difficult to find because they aren’t really in bloom right now, nor arethey super popular. But I dunno…I saw a picture of them and they reminded me of you.” I lift my eyes and study him, trying to dissect his words. “They’re tall and elegant and slightly delicate. But from what I found out, they are strong and can thrive in various elements. Like you.”
I can’t help the smile that creeps along my face. With all of the asinine things I have heard this man say, this statement takes my breath away. Not only because he took the time to learn details about something other than football or women, but that he saw parallels between the flowers and me.
“They’re gorgeous. Thank you. Let me put these in some water and we can g–”
“And I got you this.” I’m so stunned by the flowers that I forget he’s holding a box in his hands.
He passes it to me and takes the flowers back, allowing me to use both hands to open it up and see what’s inside. I’m quite nervous because knowing him –as well as I can, at this point– he’s going to follow up his sweet sentiment with something gross or perverted.
Cautiously, I tug on the end of the ribbon and it falls open. I look at him, still skeptical, and he smiles, encouraging me to keep going. With delicate hands, I lift the lid and find something with the number thirteen nestled in gold tissue paper.
“Take it out,” he says, the joy in his voice so evident.
I look around me and place the box down on the entry table and begin lifting the item out one inch at a time, as if something might pop out and scare me. When I hold it suspended in the air, I’m pleasantly surprised by what is in front of me.
“You don’t seem like the kind of woman to wear an oversized jersey with leggings. And I didn’t think you’dbe the type to wear those crop type ones either. So I had this made for you.”
My head spins to look at him, my sleek bob swinging from the force. “You had this made? For me?”
He nods and steps closer. “There’s a player whose wife is a designer. She makes a lot of clothing for wives and girlfriends of players. My mom is obsessed with her. So I reached out, told her it was urgent and that I’d pay double, and asked for something sexy but classy and elegant. Just like you.”
The pride in his voice is thick and I’m not going to lie, a lump so foreign forms in my throat. I am not the type of woman to cry…anymore.
I inspect the top and it’s simply gorgeous. The bodice style is rounded above the hips and dips down in the front, giving it a modern style. The square neck is my favorite, and straps are set wide. I turn it around and see that it covers the back perfectly to show off his last name and number.
I couldn’t have picked something better if I had designed it myself.
“Will you wear it on Sunday?” I study his face, a child-like quality when he asks me this.
Smiling –because I can’t help it– I reply, “Of course. It’s beautiful. Thank you Nico.”
I press the top to my chest and lean in, giving him a small chaste kiss on the cheek. When I step back, I’m pretty sure I can see his cheeks blush. The only way to describe him in this moment is cute.
“Can I ask one more thing of you?”
“Sure. What is it?” I carefully place the top back in the box and cover it with the tissue and lid.
“Would you mind calling me Nic? I always feel like I’m in trouble when you call me by my full name.” Hisface is slightly scrunched and he grips the flowers with worry.
I take them from him and back away with slow steps. “I will call you Nic. But you have to call me Val. Valentina is a mouthful.”
I turn on my heel towards the kitchen and motion for him to follow me.
