After all, this might not be a social visit. Tentatively, I said, "Are you here for your phone?"
He shook his head. "Screw the phone. I'm here for you." His gaze met mine. "Unless you're gonna tell me to take a hike."
I smiled with relief. "I hate hiking." I paused. "No. Wait. That's not true. Ilikehiking. I just mean…" I gave a nervous laugh. "I wouldn’t want you to hike alone."
What was I saying? I had no idea.
He reached for my hand. "I brought you something."
I looked down at our hands, now joined. I liked how they looked. Even better, I liked how they felt. I wanted to join more than our hands.
But then, his words sunk in. I looked up. "You brought me something? What?"
"A birthday present."
"But it's not my birthday."
"Yeah. But it was. And I never got you anything."
I shook my head. "You're wrong." My eyes were feeling almost misty again. "You gave me more than you realized."
"And you gave me something better."
"What?" I asked.
His voice grew quiet. "You."
I felt a big, stupid smile spread across my face. "And you gave me you."
His smile faded, and he shook his head. "No. I didn't. And I want to make it up to you."
"What do you mean?"
"Wait here," he said. "I'll be right back."
He released my hand and turned away. From the open doorway, I watched as he strode to his car, popped the trunk, and pulled something out.
It was big and flat, and wrapped in festive paper. He carried it from his car to the porch and held it out between us. He gave me a sheepish smile. "Happy birthday."
I stared at the thing. The size and shape looked eerily familiar. "What is it?" I asked.
"Youknowwhat it is."
I'd suspected. I'd even hoped. And a few minutes later, sitting beside Joel in my front room, I finally knew for sure.
I'd just removed the wrapping paper, and was now staring at the masterpiece underneath. I could hardly breathe. "I'm not sure I can accept this."
"Why not?
"Because it's too beautiful." I turned to study his face. "And I know that it must mean something to you."
"Forget that.Youmean something to me."
Carefully, I laid down the painting, face-up on the ornate rug. And then, I threw myself into his arms and murmured against his chest, "I love it. Thank you."
His arms closed tight around me, and he whispered into my hair, "I'm sorry I was such an ass."
"You weren't," I said.
