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the things I want can’t be bought.”
I see a flash – no, a flicker of heat before she suppresses it. I don’t want to give

up that easily. I try again. I pull her to me. I put the box on the counter before I kiss
her. She freezes. Her lips are rigid like she’s caught off guard by a stranger. I kiss
along her jaw to her neck. I tease her spot, and she gasps. I return my mouth to hers.
I groan contently when she finally returns my kiss.
All the possibilities fuel my kiss. I’m in my own place now. I can pursue her
like I want. I can take her out to fancy dinners and spoil her with gifts. I can profess
my love and see how far we can take it. If she wants to get married, we will. If she
wants a baby, I’ll give her one. I’m all hers. I just hope she feels the same way. I tell
her I love her in French.

The kiss ends way too soon. She pulls out of my embrace. Her chest heaves
with the effort to breathe.
“Open your gift, Henri.”
I let out a reluctant breath and pull the red ribbon off the box. I rip off the blue
and white polka dot wrapping paper then open the box. The nautical themed
wrapping amuses me until I see the contents. It’s a navy-blue version of her dark
purple blanket. Her chicken parmesan recipe printed on glossy paper in a kitchen-
themed frame. I finger the little silver spoons and forks running around the edge.
“Can’t you just cook it for me?” I ask with a smile. She gives me a feeble smirk.

I pull out the rest of the items. Some essential oils for aromatherapy baths,
some of the home freshening scents I told her I liked, a new bottle of the soap we
used in her tub, and a firstaid kit.
I get this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s practically a Sanya survival
kit. I swallow my panic. Surely, she’s just giving me things to make my condo feel
more like a home. I can’t ignore her body language. She’s looking around the condo
with far more interest than necessary and fidgeting. Her body suggests she is ready
to bolt.

“Thank you.” I accept carefully. “What’s wrong?”
“Uh…nothing,” she lies, not really meeting my eyes. “What do you keep saying
to me in French? It sounds like the same thing over and over again.”
She’s noticed. I’m not ready to tell her. Not like this.
“Let me take you to dinner, tonight. I’ll give you a quick French lesson.”