“No.”
“Tell me, tell me, tell me.” I tug again, wiggling his arm as I smile up at him.
He laughs and swings me up in his arms. “Little pest. So impatient.” He kisses my nose and carries me up the stairs. The sharp scents of paint and turpentine mix with the warmer scent of pine and fill my nose as he opens the door.
Ethan sets me down, and I turn around only to gasp, my hand flying to my lips.
The canvases and easels are gone. In their place is a woodworker’s fantasy: circular saws, band saws, table saws, routers and lathes, miters, drills, joiners… Everything I need to make furniture.
“I thought maybe you could get started sooner than later,” he says, mirroring my thoughts.
“Oh, yes,” I murmur, walking around, taking it all in.
Work tables, a dust vacuum, stacks of different types of lumber. Emotion grabs me by the throat as I turn back to Ethan, who leans against the doorway, hands in pockets, a curious, almost anxious expression on his handsome face.
“Where’s your painting stuff?” I croak out.
“Moved it to the guest house,” he says with a shrug. “I don’t need all this room, anyway.”
I swallow convulsively. “How—when?”
He pushes off from the doorway. “Found a guy who was retiring. Bought up the whole lot. Had some guys deliver it yesterday.” He looks around and then back at me. “You like it?”
“Like it?” A laugh gurgles in my throat. “I love it. I love you.”
Without another word, I launch myself at him, and he catches me, holding me secure as I wrap my legs around his waist and kiss his neck. “Thank you, Ethan. It’s the best surprise ever.”
He kisses the tip of my nose, before nipping it. “I love you too. Happy birthday, Cherry.”
His words bring me up short. “How did you know?”
Ethan gives me an exasperated look. “Ivy wouldn’t go to our last division championship game because it was your birthday. That was two years ago today.”
“You remember that from two years ago?”
“You think I’ve forgotten a single thing about you?” With a sigh, he leans his forehead against mine. “What I want to know is why you didn’t tell me it was your birthday.”
My gaze skitters away as I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m just not used to waving my own flag about stuff like that.”
With a firm but gentle grip, he turns my face back to meet his. I find it totally hot that he can hold me up with one arm. His expression is soft. “You don’t have to wave your own flag anymore, Fi. That’s my job now. My privilege.”
My lips wobble on a smile. “Okay.”
He kisses me, lips to lips, then pulls back. “My birthday is June second, by the way.”
I laugh and wrap my arms around his neck, bringing myself closer. “Duly noted. Expect furniture. Maybe a console for that monolith you call a TV.”
Ethan gives my ass a squeeze, looking smug once again. “Sounds perfect.”
Perfect. For the first time in my life, everything is perfect.
* * *
Dex
Arizona is…fucking dry. I suck down Gatorade as I get into the elevator and push the button for my floor, my suite. Yeah, I upgraded to a suite with the hope that Fi would come with me. But she informed me last night that she was “riding the crimson wave” and there was no way she would be traveling. It took me a moment to figure out what a crimson wave was, then I promptly blocked the image from my mind. Or tried to. Some things can’t be unimagined, unfortunately.
And yet I love that she was comfortable enough to tell me so bluntly. I love having bras hanging to dry in my laundry closet, the multiple bottles of shampoo, conditioners, and body wash—sweet Jesus, girls have a lot of fucking body washes— cluttering up my shower. Hell, I even love the boxes of tampons invading the sink cabinet.