“Oh.” He froze. “Should I have messaged you first?”
“Not at all. Come in, come in,” I said, ushering him away from the door. “Ugh. It’s bitter out there today.”
“Yes, it is.”
He was watching me with those intense eyes, but when I caught his gaze, he looked away, cheeks flushed. “So what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
He winced. “Can I be honest with you?”
Oh dear.
Because no good conversation ever started with that.
“Yes, of course.”
“I’d like to invite myself to your house.”
Uh, what? I almost laughed, because that was not what I was expecting.
“Oh. Okay.”
He quickly became flustered. “I’m sorry . . .”
I took hold of his coat sleeve. “It’s okay, Deacon. You can come to my house. That’s what boyfriends do, after all, right?”
He let out a little laugh, cute as hell, but he was antsy.
“Tell me what’s bothering you,” I prompted gently.
“Christmas gifts.”
Okaaaay. Also not what I was expecting.
“It was brought to my attention that the exchange of Christmas gifts would be expected,” he said. “Mom’s suggestion of something from the heart, while well-intentioned, was not entirely helpful. Dad’s suggestion was to ask Mom. The internet suggested many things. Most of which were not appropriate, orinappropriate. I’ve seen things I could’ve lived happily never seeing.” He grimaced and I did my very best not to smile. “It was also disheartening to see how many times books made the top three suggestions. Which I would normally agree with, but...” He gestured around us, to the walls lined with books and grimaced. “Other suggestions were something for your house or your room, but I’ve seen neither. I realize this eliminates any hope of a surprise, but would it not be worse to get the wrong gift? What if I got you something that you already have. Or have ten of? I don’t know. Do you collect anything? Do you like plants? LEGOs? These are things I feel I should know. But I don’t, because I’ve never been to your house. I’ve never seen your things, your room. So I thought I could remedy that by inviting myself over; however, I realize now that it was rude, so I explained the whole gift conundrum, and?—”
My smile eventually won out. “You are so cute.”
He blinked.
“But yes,” I went on. “Christmas gifts. We should discuss. And maybe set some guidelines?—”
“I suggested parameters to my parents. Dad said yes.Mom told me to go with my heart. But surely if we have parameters, we’ll have a better idea of expectations, and then I can apply the suggestion of meaning.”
He was just so stinking cute.
“One hundred percent agreed.”
He let out a big sigh of relief. “Good.”
“I’m glad we talked about it,” I said. “Thank you for bringing it up.”
He was smiling, eyes bright, his cheeks a rosy pink. “It really is best to talk about things.”
“It totally is. And look at us getting it right.” I went to the front door, locked it, and pulled the blind. “Let me just get closed up here, then we can go. I think Ro was making lasagna for dinner. Do you eat that? Or should we grab a pizza on the way home?”
“Lasagna is fine,” he said.
“I’ll just shoot her a quick text to let her know you’ll be joining us,” I said, taking out my phone and thumbing out a quick text.
