My battered shoes are still on my feet.
The ones I wore out in the storm.
The ones Thatcherlifted me inwithout a second thought.
My heart pounds. Tears threaten again.
He did thisbeforelast night.
Before anything happened between us.
Why?
Why would he do something so kind? So personal?
I reach into the box with shaking hands and lift one of the boots, holding it like it might break.
It’s warm inside, lined with plush wool.
The leather is buttery soft but firm.
Protective.
Just like him.
“Toe’s reinforced with steel,” Grayson adds, tone lighter now. “They’re waterproof. Tough as hell. You treat ’em right, they’ll treat you right.”
My fingers linger on the carved trunk of the tree, tracing its center.
I want to cry.
No one has ever bought me something so thoughtful in my life.
Dan gave me a sweater for the one Christmas we spent at my mother’s house.
It was two sizes too small. On purpose.
These?
These areperfect.
“I… thank you,” I say, my voice hoarse.
But Grayson just tips his chin, like his part’s done.
Then, just like that, he turns and walks out—back into the snow.
And I’m left here, heart galloping, hands trembling, tears in my eyes, holding a gift I didn’t expect, and maybe don’t deserve.
He saw me.
Thatcher saw me.
And now I don’t know what to do with everything I’m feeling.
Now, I’m frozen.
Heart pounding.
