Too late.
He nodded once.
“Yeah.”
“Drew, please?—”
“I think it’s a little too late now, babe.”
Babe.
Not baby.
Not Texas.
Babe.
Cold.
Gentle.
Final.
My mouth opened, but no sound came out.
He looked down at the wrapped box in his hands. His thumbs moved over the ribbon once. Slow. Careful. Like even now, he couldn’t be careless with something meant for me.
“I bought this before Thanksgiving,” he said.
I stared at the box.
My name.
Silver paper.
White ribbon.
“I was going to give it to you Christmas morning.” His throat worked. “Stupid, probably.”
“It’s not stupid.”
His laugh was almost soundless.
“You don’t even know what it is.”
“I know it’s from you.”
That made him go still.
For one second, something cracked through the calm.
Pain.
Hope.
Love, maybe.
Then he shut it down.
