He looks so boyish as he gives me a tentative smile.
Even if I hate it, I’m going to tell him I love it. I have to. I won’t break his heart like this. All he’s trying to do is be good to me.
I hold my hands out, waiting for him to set the item inside them.
When he does, he takes a seat next to me.
I’m careful opening the bag. When I pull the item out, I have to blink a couple times to see if what I’m seeing is real.
Back when we were in Curaçao, there was a lady selling these little figurines. She was telling me how each figurine represented a different spirit who would guide you in the area of their specialty.
There was one for fertility, encouraging your body to ready itself for a baby.
Another was health, helping guide your body to a healthier lifestyle.
There was fortune, helping you find success in your endeavors.
That’s not the one he bought for me though. He bought the spirit of love. She explained that this one would help you find your soulmate.
Did he buy this for me to tell me he thinks he’s my soulmate?
“You’re not saying anything, and you are starting to cry. Do you hate it? I’m sorry. You were holding it and talking to the lady. You looked at it like you wanted it but didn’t want to spend the money, so I bought it. I told her whichever one you were holding.”
My heart sinks a little. He doesn’t know the story. He only bought it because I liked it.
Still, it’s sweet.
“I love it. It’s perfect.” My voice is raw with emotion.
“Oh thank God. Please don’t cry. I can’t handle your tears. Anytime I see them, I want to do whatever I can to make them go away.”
I snort. “Men always hate tears. They can’t stand a show of emotion.”
He gives me a small smile. “It’s not the emotion. It’s the fact that something is wrong, and we don’t know how to fix it. We are fixers.”
“Well, the way you can fix this is by turning off the lights, putting a movie on, and then cuddling me while pretending you don’t hear all the angry noises my stomach makes. You also have to agree to leave the room if I tell you I need privacy in the bathroom.”
He stands, moving around the bed, stripping down. Then he crawls next to me in nothing but his boxers. He hits the button for the lights, plunging us into the dark.
Then he turns the television on and hands me the remote. As soon as I settle back onto the bed, he pulls me into him so that I’m the little spoon.
“Is this better?”
“Much.”
* * *
I feelsomething shaking my shoulder. I try to shake it off. I loathe being woken up when I’m sleeping. In fact, I am not a morning person at all. I’m more likely to bite your head off than be nice about it.
It doesn’t even matter who you are. Logically, I know I’m being a bitch, but I can’t help it.
So when his voice fills my ear, I grunt at him.
He tries again. “Hey, baby doll. I need you to wake up.”
“Five more minutes,” I grumble, wanting to tell him to fuck off.
“You can go back to bed afterward. I need you to get up and hop in the shower.” His voice is low, but the way he says it makes me wonder.
