I yank the door open and glare at the giant leaning on his forearm high against the threshold. “What?”
His lips twitch. “Did you get my gifts?”
“Yes,” I say with a sarcastic smile. “I was just about to burn them. Would you like to join me?”
I don’t give him the time to reply before I slam the door and turn back to the brand new shoes. Then I hear his footsteps behind me and the door closing. “Lana.”
“Leave.” I circle the island and pick up a sneaker. “I don’t want anything from you.”
“It’s a gift,” Christian breathes.
“I don’t need gifts, Christian.”
“If you just tell me what you need, I can’t do better.”
“Stop buying me things!”
He frowns. “Do you not like them?”
“I swear to god, Christian!” I throw the shoe in my hand athis chest and he retreats, flinching and curling into himself as it hits his arm. “You can’t buy me!”
“I’m not trying to!” I throw the other sneaker and he dodges it. “Hey! Stop—Stop! Those are good sneakers!”
“I don’t want the sneakers!” I throw a precious boot. “Or the boots!” I throw the other boot and it hits him square in the stomach, making him groan in pain. I hate myself for that. “Your money or your gifts aren’t going to fix this,” I say. “You left.You fucked up.This means nothing to me. I loved you way before the job and the company and the money. I don’t care about your watch or your car or belt. If you want this—if you want me, then fix it. Do something other than spend your money.”
“Lana,” he sighs. “I don’t know how. This is me saying I’m sorry, thisisme showing affection.”
“You have your love language, Christian, and I have my own. And mine isn’t expensive gifts!”
“I bought the sneakers because you’re on your feet all day and I don’t want you to get blisters anymore,” Christian snaps. “And the boots because I know you love your busted up combat boots in the fall but the ones you have now are old and breaking and they hurt your feet. I know that because I knowyou. You use things until they break because… Because you’re you and you hate spending money on things you don’t need. And ever since I saw those boots in the store, they reminded me of you.”
“Stop that.”
“They areboots, Lana.”
“I know what boots are! You can’t just sweet talk me, buy me things, and prove how well you think you know me and think I’ll just forgive you and kiss you!”
“I don’t think th?—”
“Christian!”
Christian bends to pick up a boot. “Keep them!” he says. “If not for me, then for you. You’re going to look so damn good in these boots.”
“And the sneakers?”
“I’ll return them and buy you…I don’t know, Skechers?”
I cross my arms and scoff.
“Nike?”
“Shut up, Christian,” I groan and step around him.
“Lana, wait.” I storm out the front door toward his car and he follows behind me. “Where are you going?”
“I’m getting you to leave.”
“How?”
