Then he works on locking it, while my heart thumps furiously against my ribcage.
“It’s done,” he mumbles, his voice husky.
I touch the charm and the cold metal reminds me of him.
With a deep breath, I turn around.
Even in the dark, I can clearly see how his eyes lock on the necklace.
“It looks pretty on you,” he says, lifting the charm and caressing it with his thumb.
I smile. “Now I wear a chain just like you.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, before leaning down and kissing me again.
41
HOPE
November 20th.It’s my birthday today.
The day starts out as ordinary until Heath opens his eyes and sees me awake. He hovers over me, his arms on either side, supporting his weight. His hair is flying everywhere and his eyes look a little sleepy, but he looks strikingly handsome.
“Happy birthday Rose,” he says and kisses me softly.
“Thank you,” I say, caught in a daze, as someone other than my mother wishes me well.
“Today’s your special day,” he smirks down at me.
I nod, feeling all sorts of strange emotions at what might happen today. A pit of darkness grows in my stomach.
Heath balances on one hand, and uses the other to cup my cheek. His thumb caresses the skin underneath my eye. “Your pretty eyes are my favourite thing.”
“They’re just plain brown.”
He shakes his head. “They’re anything but plain. Sometimes, when the light hits them, they look like honey; other times, they resemble chocolate. And I don’t like either of those things, but when I see them in you, I go crazy.”
My heart races.
He grins and kisses me again. “Let’s get over with school so we can have the party later tonight.”
With that he gets off the bed and stretches. The plain black t-shirt does nothing to hide the way those back muscles move and shift.
“Party?” I ask, sitting up.
“Yes. Marie is organizing it here,” he says and runs a hand through his hair.
Knowing Marie will be in charge of my birthday party, I’m sure it’ll be full of colors and fun. The most fun I’ve ever had.
Heath walks into his walk-in closet and comes out carrying two shopping bags. He sets those down in my lap and stands straight with his arms folded over his chest.
“I got you something.” He gestures to the bags.
With a frown, I reach for the bag and look inside. There are clothes.
Slowly, I pull out the white cable-knit sweater, that feels so soft, along with a jean skirt and a green scarf. In the other bag, there are knee-high brown boots — the kind of boots I’ve never worn before.
“This is too much,” I say.
