Page 79 of Minted
He grimaces. “Well, still. You have a lot of potential, kid.”
“At first, that non-compete that kept me from even looking for clients scared me. I have savings, but not a ton. With plans for the girls adoption under way. . .I was stressed. It’s not like that’s going to look great on a home report.”
“But now?”
“They need me a lot right now, and I’ve never loved my job. The reason I’m leaving is that I want to do something good. Something fulfilling. Something I’ll be proud of, and if that takes a little time and depletes my savings a little, I’m not going to stress about it.”
“You don’t have to worry about money, either,” Bentley says. “You do know that, right?”
“I know, and you have no idea how much I appreciate your willingness to help us. But it’s actually been knowing that you’ll support me emotionally, no matter what I do or how long it takes that has made me feel safe.”
“Well, then I hope you’ll let me take you to dinner and tell you about all the ways I plan to support you.” He’s beaming.
“Telling me all the ways sounds great, but I’m on a diet,” I remind him. Even though I haven’t lost a single pound for the past month, and I’ve been on a diet the whole time.
“Diet schmiet,” he says. “Some days need to be celebrated.”
“Like all the days the girls win at tennis?” I ask. “And the day they shot their commercial?”
“And your birthday next week,” he says. “And Tuesdays. Sundays too, probably.”
I’m smiling, but he really is making it hard for me to lose any weight. “I know you mean well, but—”
“You look amazing right now,” he says. “And I will support your diet if you insist, but I don’t think you need it.”
I realize, as I stare at his very earnest face. . .that he means it. He’s not just saying it because he thinks he should. Something inside of me eases in that moment, because if Bentley means it, maybe I can stop being so hard on myself too.
“Merry Christmas, Barbara.”
I roll my eyes out of habit.
But he’s right—I did love him at Christmas, but I couldn’t say it. Even now, it’s a little hard for me to say I love you, but I can always say Merry Christmas, and we both know what it means for us. Every time he says it, it makes me smile, even when my eyes are welling with tears. “Merry Christmas to you, too, Bentley.”
He leans across the center console and kisses me then, quickly, and it feels like coming home.
“By the way,” he says. “Your birthday present came in early. Did you want it now? Or on your birthday?”
I’m a woman. Once I know about something. . . “Now, obviously.”
When he pulls out a box, my heart skips a beat. “Bentley.”
“I told you.” He shakes his head. “I’m not proposing again. You have to do that, and you better do a good one.”
I laugh.
He hands me the box, and I realize it’s a bit larger than a ring box.
“Is this a—”
He snatches it back. "Ah, ah, ah, you aren’t supposed to guess. I got in trouble for that at Christmas.”
I roll my eyes, but I open it. “Keys?” I pull them out, and I notice the keychain is a woman sitting on Santa Claus’s lap. It says “Naughty and Nice?” I can’t help laughing at that. “What are these keys for?” But I can see the logo on the car key—it says Land Rover.
He shrugs. “I got myself a Land Rover last week, because I didn’t have anything with a solid five seats.”
“Five?” I lift my eyebrows. “Did one of your exes turn up pregnant?”
He laughs. “Not a chance. But I figure the girls might want to bring a friend somewhere one day, and I should have room. While I was buying myself the red one—”
