The Redhead Revealed

“You want to do those now? Christmas isn’t for a few days, Gracie.”

“Yes, but the spirit is moving me now. Come on, George. Didn’t you get me anything?” I teased.

“Oh, I did, and when you see it you’re going to let me do that thing to you you said I could never, ever do.” He disappeared into the bedroom.

“Get over it, George. Never means never. I don’t care what you get me. Not going to happen.” I laughed.

He came back to the living room. If he’d retrieved anything, I couldn’t see it.

My present for him was big, so I made him sit on the couch and close his eyes. I removed it from the closet and set it in front of him.

“Okay, open,” I said. He complied, and then his eyes widened in surprise. It took him a few minutes to realize what it was.

“Grace, you really shouldn’t have done this,” he breathed, staring at my present.

Sitting in front of him was a brand new Breedlove Revival OM-M acoustic guitar. He picked it up like a father with a new baby: gently and with reverence. His hands explored the smooth lines, the curved planes, and with exquisite dexterity, he strummed. A beautiful tone came forth from the wood, and a wondrous smile broke across his face.

“Oh, love. This is too much.” He smiled and made no move to set it down.

I sat quietly next to him on the couch and listened to him play for a few minutes, losing himself in the music.

“This is extraordinary. Thank you so much,” he whispered, setting the guitar carefully beside him and turning to me. He placed his hands on either side of my face, with the same care he’d used to hold my present, and stared into my eyes for what seemed like hours. He leaned in and kissed me softly, barely pressing his lips to mine.

We kissed gently and sweetly, my hands coming up to cover his own as he held my face.

He leaned his forehead in to rest on mine. “I love you so much,” he whispered.

I smiled at him. “I love you too.”

He pulled away and put both hands behind his back. “Okay, your presents. Pick a hand,” he instructed.

“Presents? You got me two things? Not fair,” I said, wrinkling my nose.

“Gracie, shut the fuck up and enjoy this. Now pick a hand, please,” he said, his eyes dancing.

I sat back and looked at him, the beautiful man in front of me. I pointed to his left hand, then looked at him expectantly.

“Okay, close your eyes,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow, but did as I was told.

“Put out your hand, love.”

I stuck my hand out, and into it was placed what felt like a small velvet box.

What?

My eyes fluttered open and stared at the box from Harry Winston.

What? And I say again, what?

“George, what did you do?” I asked, my heart beating against my chest.

“Just open it, Nuts Girl,” he said, nudging me with his knee.

Carefully, I opened the box and stared. It took me about thirty seconds to fully comprehend what was inside, and then I threw myself into his lap. The tears began immediately. “Jesus, George, I love you so much!” I choked through my tears and maniacal laughing. I was having a full-on breakdown.

He laughed with me, both of us falling backward on the couch. I kissed him repeatedly, my kisses mixing with tears as I kissed his eyes, his temples, his cheeks, his chin, and finally his mouth. Actually, I tried to kiss his mouth, but he was gri

“You know we are totally crazy, right?” he asked me, brushing my hair back so he could look at me.

“Well, you don’t call me Nuts Girl for nothing. You wanted a crazy girl, and you sure got one.”

“I sure did, and how lucky am I?” he said, still smiling.

“No one will understand this. You know that, right?” I said, still trying to kiss him.

“They don’t have to. This is about you and me.” He kissed me deeply, and I melted. I actually melted into his arms as I started to cry again.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He chuckled.

“What the hell did you think was go

We looked together, both smiling hugely.

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I asked you to move in, huh?” I teased, then I remembered something. “Hey, where’s my other present?” I asked.

He rolled his eyes. “See, now to most girls, that would be enough,” he answered, sitting us back up with a stern look.

“I am not most girls,” I explained, sitting primly on the edge of the couch, admiring my first present.

“You are ruddy well right about that,” he scoffed, and told me to close my eyes again.

“Jesus, George just give it to me.”

“That’s what she said,” he said, laughing the high-pitched laugh he reserved for when he cracked himself up. Which was often.

I rolled, then closed, my eyes once more.

“Put your hand out,” he instructed.

This time, when I did, I felt something paper.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Open, please,” he said.

I looked down at my hand.

It was a plane ticket. A plane ticket!

“A plane ticket? What? Am I going on a trip? Where am I going?” I squealed, my voice climbing so high that he clapped his hands over his ears in defense.

“Jesus, Sheridan, just look at the bloody ticket.” He sighed, but he was smiling.

I tore it open and read the destination. “Shut up,” I breathed, and looked at him incredulously.

He smiled.

“I’m going here? Here? Are you kidding me?” I asked, the tears starting again.

“Yep, you and me. Fancy a trip?” he asked, eyebrows waggling devilishly.

I stood up and set everything down on the coffee table. I straddled his lap and wrapped my arms around him. His hands went to the small of my back and held me to him.

“George, you’re going to get so lucky tonight,” I said, laying my head on his shoulder and letting him hold me.

“I’m already lucky, sweet girl,” he whispered in my ear.

We clung to each other, in the light from the Christmas tree and the fireplace, with the music enveloping us, in my home. In our home.

Later that night, when he slipped into me, we were wrapped around each other as tightly as two people could be. I could feel his heart beating against mine, and it was perfect.

We’d gone through hell and back, and he stuck with me. My life was a sum of all its parts. Everything I’d been through, everything I’d done had brought me to this place with Jack.

We were solid. We were strong. And we were moving forward together.

***

He stirred in his sleep, clutching me closer. I scratched his scalp, feeling the silky strands of hair slip between my fingers. I felt the weight of his body press against mine. I rubbed my present back and forth between my fingers again, feeling it against my skin.

He came awake momentarily and rolled me onto my side, snuggling in behind me.

“Love you, Grace,” he mumbled, and slipped back to sleep.

“Love you too,” I whispered.

And his hands?

Please. Where else would they be?

Chapter 22

I closed my eyes and let the sun wash over me. It was so strong that even with my eyes shut, the world was bright.

I felt the sand between my toes, warm through the thin bamboo mat I was curled on. I smelled the tang of the ocean, rolling in only a few feet away. I tasted the salt in the air, and the afternoon heat was thick and lazy on my tongue. I heard the waves knocking against the sand, and the call of a seagull overhead—careful there, bird.

Then I heard the door swing shut, and I turned and saw. I saw the most beautiful man in the world. He trotted down the porch steps holding two beers and headed my way. He wore a pair of loose jeans rolled up at the bottom, no shoes, and, God, no shirt.

“Hey,” he called, shuffling through the sand.

I leaned up on my elbows, exposing myself to him. What was the point of a private beach if you couldn’t sunbathe topless?