Page 282 of The Heart You Kept

“It looks perfect.” She’s wearing a flowing pink dress, her thick dark hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail and she has a fresh face, without makeup.

She spins and then turns to the bathroom and then goes back to her open suitcase and then spins again. “What are you doing?” I frown.

“Freaking the fuck out, Edward,” she stammers. “I feel stupid, I’ve brought stupid clothes and I packed stupid things and I made a present for your dad and now that I’m here, it’s just so ridiculously stupid.”

“What do you mean, you made a present for my father?” I drop to sit on the bed.

She picks up a large square red tin, the kind you see in antique stores. “I won’t give it to him.” She shrugs as if embarrassed. “I don’t even know what I was thinking.”

“What is it?”

“I baked him some shortbread.”

“When did you have time to bake shortbread?” I frown, confused.

“I got up at 3 this morning and did it while you were sleeping, I wanted it to be fresh for him.”

Oh….

My heart swells, and if I didn’t love this woman before, I sure as hell do now.

“How are you so perfect?” I take her into my arms and kiss her.

“Should I change?” Her eyes search mine.

“Don’t you dare. I love you exactly the way you are.”

“I mean my clothes, Edward. Focus….”

“Alora.” I take her hands in mine. “Just be you. My father is no idiot, he will love you if you just be yourself.”

“But this house is just so fancy and…I’m out of my depth here.”

“Listen to me.” I place my finger under her chin and bring her face up to meet mine. “I fell in love with you because of who you are, not what you have.”

Her eyes well with tears.

“Show yourself to my family, the real you. Not who you think they want you to be.” I wipe her tears with my thumbs. “Alright?”

She nods. “Okay.”

I pick up her old red tin and I put it under my arm and we make our way downstairs and out through the front door as we hold hands, and I want to run to my father’s. Because for the first time in my life I have someone worthy to introduce to him.

Someone I’m proud to call mine…and what she sees in me, I’ll never know.

We arrive at the front door and I hand her the red tin. “You ready?” I ask.

She nods again, perhaps too nervous to speak.

I push the door open. “I’m home,” I call.

My father comes around the corner and his face lights up when he sees us. “Ah, my son.” He laughs, he pulls me into an embrace. “It’s been too long.”

“Dad.” I smile. “This is Alora Sorenson.”

“Hello, my dear.” He smiles.

“Hello,” she says timidly, with shaky hands she holds out her red tin. “I….” She swallows the lump in her throat. “I made you a present.” She passes it over.