“I got you something,” he says. The devilish glint in his eyes makes me even more excited than his words do. I look up from my comfy spot on my favorite couch I’ve had so many great memories on, and toss my Kindle to the side (side note: so glad I can do that without worrying about accidentally folding pages or cracking a spine—God bless e-readers) to give him my full attention. Standing in the doorway, looking like an absolute snack, he deserves it.
My stomach flips in anticipation as his words settle in, and I run my gaze over him, from top to bottom, looking for what he might have for me. My eyes linger on one particularly appealing area, but he chuckles at that, so I guess he isn’t just looking for an in to be dirty right now. Sucks for him, because it totally woulda worked, but now I just wanna know what he got me.
His hands are behind his back, and I think I know how I can win this game, so I hop up off the couch (actually hop) and run over to him, throwing myself at his frame and wrapping my limbs around his awkwardly to hang onto him while I scramble to get to whatever is in his hands. I may be shouting a string ofveryladylike commands, likegimme, while I do it.
He laughs in my ear, a throaty chuckle that makes every hair on my arms stand on end when it runs through me, and I shudder, but don’t stop my attempts.
“No, Jellybean. You have to find it.” The feel of his lips against my ear—oranybody part for that matter—will never get old, I swear it.
I manage to pull my head back from its perch on his shoulder to look him in the eyes, and my confusion must be evident, because he brings his empty hands out and wraps one under my butt to help support me, and takes the other and presses it to my cheek, holding my face like it’s something precious to him, stroking my temple softly, still grinning broadly. “It’s not on me, baby. But it is in this house.”
A million hiding places flit through my mind’s eye and I leap down from his hold in the next instant, causing him to laugh again, and swat me on my not-quite-bare ass as I step back and plan my search route. In another second, I’m off and running through the many rooms of our home, squealing in excitement, and I’m pretty sure this might be classified asgiggling. What have I become?
The bitter, butthurt girl of months ago is nowhere to be found. Instead is oneveryhappy woman who is finally with the man she was meant for, who’s found herself along the way, and is having the time of her life exploring life together as a pair. And apparently that includes giggling and making an absolute idiot out of myself, but how can I be mad about it? Short answer is,I’m not. I’m living for every moment of happiness we share, and whatever comes out of them.
I come skidding to a halt as I pass the giant closet in our bedroom, but in my bare feet, that doesn’t go quite according to plan, and I nearly smash into the wall instead. There is a brown bag with white script and white handles sitting on the island in the closet thatdefinitelywasn’t there last time I was in here.
Since I overshot and skidded a little too far on the tile, I have to make my way backward toward the door and by the time I can fully take in the scene in front of me, the name on the bag, my jaw is literally hanging open.
I look back behind me, and Aaron is once again in the doorway, this time between the closet and his bedroom. He’s leaning against the frame there, one hand tucked into his pocket, watching me with a smile that reaches his eyes. I’m not sure when he started wearing button downs more than tees, but I’m definitely not complaining about his leveled-up look as I take in his rolled-up sleeves and the way they show off his forearms. I still can’t believe he’s finally mine, and that I get to climb him like a lineworker on a power pole anytime I fucking want. I shake my head to get back on track—not the time to get distracted, Gemma—and turn back to the closet island with a huge grin on my face.
The logo is unfamiliar to me, but as I approach the bag, I see that it’s the name of a designer. Christian fucking Louboutin to be exact. And that’s when my heart starts beating in double time.
Pretty sure my hands are also shaking as I pull the matching brown box out of the bag and set it down next to it on the countertop.
“I know you wanted to look perfect for our debut on the red carpet. And I want you to know that I think you already do, but…” My eyes dart up to meet his, and I don’t think his are swimming with tears like mine are, but he looks exceptionallysweet in this moment, and I file this away in mydon’t evereverforget this momentfolder in my mind. “I thought you’d look extra hot in these, and I remember that one time you dragged me in there when I got my first movie role when we were teenagers.”
A wet laugh escapes my mouth with a few stray tears that roll down my cheeks as I recall that trip while I finger the shoebox gingerly. “I told you that one day you were gonna be rich enough to buy me any shoes I wanted.”
“You always believed in me, Gem. Sorry it took me so long to get you the first pair you wanted.” The earnestness in his voice when he says sweet shit doesn’t get old.
The lid comes off easily, and I legit gasp when I see the most perfect pair of classic black pumps waiting for me in the box. My hand trembles as I reach to take one out and inspect it closely, and a moan may escape me as I trace the red soles, touching something I’ve dreamed about for a decade. Kinda like what happened with Aaron, I guess. But, ya know, I didn’t even dare think I’d ever really own these bad boys, whereas a part of me was always sure he and I would end up together in the end, so this is pretty special in its own right.
I slip it on my bare foot, and shouldn’t even be surprised that it’s a perfect fit. Of course this man, who knows me better than anyone else, with his eye for detail and his level of care, got me the exact pair I’ve wanted since I was a young girl, and got me the perfect size.
The second one goes on just as easily and when I take my first step in them, I could almost cry with elation. Aaron hasn’t taken his eyes off me, soaking up my joy for his own, and that look he’s giving me has me thinking about a wholly different kind of package I’d like to unwrap right now.
I give him a little twirl in the shoes, testing out my mobility in them and maybe,maybeshowing him my rear in the process. His eyes trail up and down my legs as I move for him, and if heminds that I’ve paired these excruciatingly expensive shoes with one of his tees and some undies, I certainly can’t tell.
These are going to go fucking perfect with the dress I splurged on.
I actuallysquealout loud at the thought, and he raises an eyebrow at me.
“I can’t believe you remembered!”
He’s kind enough not to comment on how breathless I sound, and I take advantage of my new, much taller height by wrapping my arms around his shoulders and pulling him in for a sloppy kiss that I hope shows my appreciation.
“You like ’em?” he whispers against my mouth, that gleam still present in his eyes.
Hardly capable of forming words, I bite my lower lip and nod eagerly. He leans forward and nips at my exposed top lip playfully, claiming it for his own mouth.
When I can catch my breath again, my manners come back to me. “Thank you,” I say sincerely, still pressed against him. And that’s when I feel, rather than see, how much he likes these new shoes on me, too. It might even be slightly more than I do.
“If you really wanna thank me, you could get down on your knees and give me a perfect view of those red bottoms.”
My stomach drops into my nether regions, and flutters fill my entire midsection as his meaning hits me. Mouth watering at the thought, the playful command in his tone, zero part of me wants to deny him this, and I do just what he asks.
His groans lead me on, his hands buried in my hair encourage that perfect pace, and Iknowhe feels my appreciation by the time I’m done with him. And yes, I made sure he could see the soles theentiretime.
