Or, well, notonlyflowers and chocolate.
“What is that?” I whisper, sore arms dropping to my sides as water drips off of my nose to further wet my shirt. “Whatisthat?”
Roman blushes, biceps popping as he lifts amassivegift basket toward me. “For you. To say sorry for the other night. I would’ve brought it earlier, but it took me a while to find the products you usually use, then I had to overnight some of them, so I only finished this about… five minutes ago.”
He gulps, eyes flitting between the basket and me. “I’m sorry, Elodie, for the way I behaved when you called me for help. I shouldn’t have lectured you like that. I hope that in the future you still feel safe enough to call me when you need help, and that you know that I have always had your safety as my primary concern. I didn’t handle it well at all, and I believe I’ve learned from this situation so that it won’t happen again in the future. This,” he wiggles the basket. “Is a promise that I will be more considerate, more gentle, and more understanding going forward, to the very best of my ability. It’s a promise to pay attention to your needs and to care for them in a less selfish way.”
He heaves a breath that looks about as painful as my arms, shoulders, and back feel right now. “Forgive me, Sweet. Please.”
My eyes rove the basket, which overflows with gels, mousses, shampoos, conditioners, deep conditioners, scalp scrubs, flowers, chocolates, new bonnets, and what appears to be a neck massager. Possibly that basket weighs five thousand pounds, he’s stuffed it so full of product, all in brands I love and use regularly.
Possibly his arm is about to fall off from him holding it out to me through that whole, incredibly thoughtful speech, and beyond, since I’ve responded by just… staring at him.
Possibly I should stop staring and take it, because that was the best apology I have ever gotten in my life, and it came with a huge dose of spoiling, so I am obviously going to forgive him, and I should let him know that.
I move, jolting forward like I’ve been shocked—which, kind of, I have—to grab the basket. I stumble when the weight of it falls into my arms and immediately decide it can live next to the door. The space directly in front of Roman looks like a wonderful spot for a basket. I drop it there, then raise my eyes to him.
“Thank you,” I say. “I’m— this is—” I shake my head, wobbling my mouse towel. “This is so thoughtful, Roman.” I sniff. “This must have taken you so long to put together.”
His eyes roam my face. “It was worth it,” he replies. “To show you that I can pay attention and do the right thing. I’m capable, and I will do better where it regards you going forward.”
I nod, glancing at my basket. “I see that, yeah.”
Intense, he asks, “Can you forgive me, Sweet?”
“Yes,” I answer. “And not just because you’re bribing me to. I know that you just reacted like that because you were scared. I didn’t exactly handle the situation in the smartest way, and I know that. It was just…” I trail off, hesitant to bring up my grievances when he’salreadyapologized.
“It was just me being an idiot, dogging on you when you already knew you could have done things differently, but it was too late to change anything. It was just me picking you up, berating you, and being a self-righteous prick about it.”
Well…
“I mean,” I cough. “You said it.”
He chuckles, using his foot to move the basket aside so that it’s no longer between us or potentially blocking the door. A wild design choice, to be sure, but I suppose I will accept it.
Once the basket is out of the way, he further shocks me by closing the space between us and pressing his large, dry body against me, arms wrapping around me in a hug.
I blink, unsure if he realizes he’s just drowned himself by proximity. “Roman, I’m soaking wet,” I inform him.
“I know,” he says. “It’s fine. This is anI’m sorryhug.I’m sorryhugs happen regardless of water content. I’ll be fine.”
Well. If he says so. I guess.
Since we’re already in theI’m sorryhug, I should probably do a little bit of my own apologizing…
“I’m sorry, too,” I mutter. “For not following through on my promise.”
His arms tighten, but he says only, “Finish up in here. I’ve set up a movie night for us downstairs with pizza. And when you get down there, I’ll give you a massage. Work out some of the hair day pain.”
Uh…
“I appreciate the apology, and the gift, but truly you don’t have to go that far.” I’m certainly not going that far. “The apology portion of the evening is over.”
Not to mention, if he keeps being nice to me, I will feel bad when I’m inevitably mean back. He’s messing up our dynamic. I am mean, he is mean. He is mean, I am mean. It’s a system that works. Throwing in apologies and gifts and massages messes upthe ecosystem.
“The gift and the apology are for you,” he says. “After we got home Wednesday night, I talked to Will, then I talked to my mom, and they both talked a bit of sense into me. My mom, especially, helped me with the apology. The basket was my idea, but… I didn’t really know where to start.” He clears his throat. “She convinced me to sneak into your bathroom and go through your hair products for brand specifics. I’ve never snooped before. It was harrowing.”
My eyebrows rise. I’ll just bet it was.
