367 Days

by Jessica Gadziala

  "Um, anyone who doesn't use colored lights on their Christmas tree is just sucking all of the spirit out of the holiday."

  "Alright then," he said, reaching for some of the boxes. "What are your feelings on blinking?"

  "Some solid, some blinking. I like twinkling, but not something that will inspire an epileptic fit."

  "Okay, can do. I think the light thing is typical man-work, right? Then the women put the decorations on."

  "Sounds like a plan," I agreed, kicking back and watching as he strung the lights together and put them on the tree, taking direction about bald spots until the entire tree was lit up perfectly, some twinkling, but mostly solid so it was comforting, not anxiety-causing.

  "Alright, you're up babe," he declared, taking his hot chocolate and kicking back on the couch to watch me decorate.

  His phone slipped out of his pocket and as I hung the first ornament, a pretty little wreath with last years' date on it, I heard the shutter of his camera. All during decorating, I would occasionally hear it go off.

  "What did your family usually do for Christmas?" he asked as I smiled down at a little ornament of Max from The Grinch.

  "On Christmas Eve, we went to the live animal manger and put presents under the tree at the church for the underprivileged. Then, because I was always too excited to sleep so Santa could come, they would take me driving to look at Christmas lights until I passed out. Then I woke up Christmas morning to find them snuggled on the couch drinking coffee and waiting for me. Then we would all open presents. After that, my mom started cooking a big dinner that we would eat. After that, we would pick a Christmas movie and watched it until we all passed out."

  "What movies did you usually watch?"

  "All of the best ones," I said, smiling with nostalgia as I continued loading up the tree. "White Christmas, The Santa Clause, National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation..."

  "A Christmas Story?"

  "No. That one plays for twenty-four hours on Christmas Eve night. So we were usually sick of it by Christmas Day."

  "Do you still do those same traditions now?" he asked, giving me his full attention.

  "For the most part, yeah. But I don't watch those movies anymore. I find them a little painful."

  "What do you watch now then?"

  "The newer ones: Christmas With The Kranks, Elf, Love Actually, I'll Be Home For Christmas, While You Were Sleeping, The Family Stone..."

  He let me lose myself in my memories for a moment. "Looks good, babe," he said and I felt my belly wobble. It felt right. It felt right that he did the lights and talk to me while I did the bulbs. "So are you an angel or a star kind of girl?"

  "Stars all the way," I said with finality. I still had mine from my parents' tree. It had been broken and wouldn't light up for years, but I still topped my tree with it every December.

  "Alright," he said, folding up and fetching a box then pulling out a star for me. I connected it to the lights and it lit up with half a dozen colors and I went up on my tiptoes to try to top it. "Here," he said after my third try, almost toppling the tree over in the process. His body came up behind me, his arm folding over my belly and holding me to him as his hand took the star and placed it on the tree. "Perfect," he said when it was settled. I craned my neck up, making the back of my head hit his shoulder.

  He was right. It was perfect.

  His head ducked and turned in, planting a sweet kiss on the column of my neck that sent a shiver through my body.

  "Presents, baby," he murmured, his voice heavy, matching the moment.

  "Okay," I agreed, going to move away, but his hand tightened, his arm rose again, but with his phone, not the star. And I watched our faces on the screen. Literally picture perfect.

  The shutter went off, the screen froze for a second.

  And then he released me and moved away.

  I had to hold back from letting out a genuine whine as I followed him to sit down on the floor in front of the tree. "Open," he demanded and I felt a rush of self-consciousness as I reached for the closest box, an unmistakable short, rectangular one that years of childhood investigation told me was absolutely some form of clothing.

  I looked at the paper for a second, big fluffy Santa hats. None of the gifts seemed to match, each having either bright and modern cartoonish paper or classic, vintage-looking paper.

  "Must have taken you all fucking day to open your gifts as a kid," he quipped and I smiled and moved to rip it open, hearing a shutter once.

  I pulled off the top and moved the bright red tissue paper out of the way. And there was a stunning silk patchwork robe. I picked it up immediately, holding it up with a smile. Beautiful. It was stunning.

  The shutter went off again and I shook my head at him. "This is gorgeous."

  "Thought it matched your kind of exotic look."

  "You picked this out?" I asked, folding it back into its box.

  "Sound surprised. I picked out everything here, Riya."

  I couldn't decide if I liked that more or not. It was almost easier to accept the gifts if, say, Marg picked them out. Or, hell, even Brock, Barrett, or Tig. But Sawyer had taken time out of his already busy schedule to pick out gifts for me. That made it actually mean something.

  And I wasn't sure if I could handle him meaning more to me than he already did. Especially when we hadn't known each other that long.

  "Come on. We have other holidays still. You can reflect on my amazing taste later."

  I laughed at that and reached for another box, smaller, in a vintage pine tree pattern. I unwrapped it to find a big, heavy, blue and tan stoneware coffee mug.

  And, again, I tried not to overthink it.

  But he got me my own coffee mug. To put in his cabinet.

  Another box offered me an assortment of expensive bath bombs.

  Yet another had a girly drink mix kit.

  Then, in a huge box, I found a canvas oil painting recreation of an old family photo of mine, me and my parents sitting in front of our Christmas tree. I was maybe twelve at the time and going through an incredibly awkward phase hair and eyebrow-wise. But I was beaming.

  "How did you..." I said, shaking my head.

  "Barrett came across the picture when he hacked into your Facebook account. I thought it suited this perfectly."

  That time, when the tears stung, I didn't fight them.

  And when the urge told me to crawl over to him and wrap myself around him, I did that too.

  There was no hesitation when he arms went around me. And when the mix of happy and sad tears slid down his neck, his hands stroked up and down my spine, into my hair.

  I'd received a lot of gifts in my life. A fair amount of those gifts were even from boyfriends, but not one was ever quite as thoughtful as the one he had gotten me.

  "Alright, babe," he said, giving me a squeeze. "One last one," he said, his body shifting as he, I imagined, grabbed the gift.

  I swiped my eyes and shifted back slightly, but left my legs where they were, feet planted near his hips, the outsides of my thighs against the insides of his.

  He made no move to pull away either, putting a small jewelry box into my hands. My brows drew together as I looked down, feeling like jewelry was an intimate gift. Men didn't buy jewelry for friends.

  But he was watching me so I didn't have time to think that through.

  I pulled off the top to find a necklace sitting there. It had a delicate silver chain and a very simple, very Sawyer-like, centerpiece of two interlocking circles. One was larger and brushed silver; the other was smaller and a brushed copper.

  And there was a meaning there that I wasn't sure he picked up on, but I sure as hell did.

  It was a relationship necklace.

  "It's beautiful," I said, meaning it, knowing it would immediately become my new favorite piece of jewelry. In fact, the urge was so strong to take it out and put it on that I gave in and did so. "How does it look?" I asked, angling my chin up to the side so he could look.

  But his
eyes were on me and his finger and thumb grabbed my chin and pulled my head back down. "Beautiful," he said and my belly fluttered. He looked for a long second before his hand fell. "So, New Years," he declared, pulling away suddenly and moving toward the champagne. "Did you have any resolutions you were mulling over before everything happened?"

  I snorted as he popped the cork on the champagne and poured us each a flute. "To not date any more assholes," I offered, smiling.

  "Should be every woman's resolution every year. Though, lately, seems like the assholes and fuckboys outnumber the decent guys."

  I took my flute and raised it to toast him. "I know a few," I offered. His smile softened as he saluted me back and took a sip. "So... birthday."

  "Really, this is way too many presents," I objected, shaking my head.

  "Shush," he said, walking over toward the birthday stuff and gesturing toward the pile.

  So then I opened my birthday presents.

  I found two new dresses, just a tad tighter than I generally bought for myself. There was a pair of heels. And then there were passes to a comedy show, the movie theatre, and the local spa.

  "Time to start going out and doing shit again, Riya. Get a life going."

  I nodded, acknowledging the truth in that.

  "This is really nice of you, Sawyer. Thank you so..."

  "We're not done, babe," he said and I looked back to the table to see if I missed something.

  "I don't see..."

  "Well, you also missed Easter, Fourth of July, and a couple bullshit holidays, but there's one big holiday you missed that you probably had no plans to celebrate since your last ex was a fuckwad and you were likely heavy in a 'fuck men' phase. But you missed it and I am making up for that as well."

  Right.

  "The roses," I said, looking back toward the hall.

  "The roses," he agreed, nodding a little.

  "The roses are a bit..."

  "Over the top?" he supplied. "Yep," he agreed, not seeming the least bit embarrassed about that fact.

  "I never had you pegged for cheesy."

  "I never had you pegged for someone so cynical that you confuse something traditionally romantic for cheesy."

  Well hell.

  He had me there.

  I never used to be that girl.

  Before Michael, I had melted if I came home to a single rose on my pillow or a box of chocolates when I had a crummy day. I used to be a sap for all intents and purposes. I cried at weddings and got butterflies at romcoms.

  "Okay, fine. It's sweet," I gave in, giving him a smile. "But if I follow those rose petals to find a freaking skimpy lingerie set, I am going to be crazy disappointed."

  "Really?" he asked, following me as I followed the rose petals. "Then I probably really shouldn't have gotten you all those different dildos and vibrators, huh?" he asked and I chuckled as I found the roses stopped outside the closed door to my room.

  There was a small red envelope taped to the door and I reached for it with a smile as he watched me.

  Inside I found a card with a jug of Sunny D on it with "you want the D" written beside it.

  A surprised, amused laugh turned into a fit of giggles and I heard the shutter again and I knew that a mid-laugh picture would need to be deleted as soon as we finished.

  "Well, that is going out on a good note," I said, shaking my head at him.

  "You're not done," he said, nodding toward the door.

  "Sawyer, this is too much."

  "Go in," he demanded.

  With that, I moved inside and found my bed made and covered in a giant basket. I moved forward, giving him a smile over my shoulder. The basket was obnoxiously red and pink and basically looked like love threw up all over it. And I loved every bit of it from the bouquet of lilies (because I wasn't a huge rose fan, something one of them had dug up about me), the giant box of chocolates, the chocolate-dipped strawberries with red and pink drizzle, the candles with cupid on them, the pile of cheesy romcoms, and the red fuzzy teddy bear.

  "You did this?" I asked, picking up the bear and hugging it to my chest.

  "Yep."

  "You didn't consult Marg or something?"

  "Consult the woman whose husband has bought her convenience store chocolates every Valentine's Day for the past fifteen years and she thinks that is the most romantic thing in the world? No, babe. I didn't consult anyone."

  "You closet sap, you," I teased. "Admit it," I said, reaching for the copy of You've Got Mail and waving it at him, "you bought this because you actually want to watch it."

  "Caught me," he said with a smile. I put the movie back in the basket, the humor mostly gone and I was feeling a bit sad that the night was over. "Invite me to watch a movie with you, Riya," he said, his voice quiet.

  I looked over to find him watching me, head tucked to the side.

  "Want to watch Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks somehow fall in love with no sexual chemistry with me?" I asked, pulling it back out and handing it to him. While he loaded it into the player, I took the basket off the bed and put it on the floor, but not before fishing out the chocolates.

  And, well, I kept the teddy bear with me too as I climbed into the bed and sat against the headboard. Sawyer put in the DVD, grabbed the remote, kicked out of his shoes, and moved onto the empty side of the bed. His big body took up more than his half, his shoulder pressing into mine, our bodies touching from there to our ankles. He skipped to the main menu and pressed play then reached toward where the box of chocolates were sitting on my lap and taking one of the nasty fruit-filled ones to eat it.

  Michael and I used to fight over the nougat or caramels ones.

  I remember when I asked my mom how she knew my father was the one, she said it was when she realized he liked pickles when she hated them, so when she got coleslaw at a diner, he took the "nasty" pickle off for her.

  Obviously she wasn't serious, but there was meaning there.

  She knew when she learned she found someone who made the entire picture complete, someone who had strengths where she had weaknesses, who was lacking where she excelled.

  So, try as hard as I did to not read too much into it, I was reading into it.

  "Remember when AOL was actually a thing?" he asked, shaking his head at the TV.

  "Good old days," I agreed, nodding, remembering my mother pleading with me to get offline so she could use the phone. "Though," I added, nudging him slightly, "today was a really good day too."

  "Yeah?" he asked, his arm moving and going around my shoulders.

  And, yeah, I melted right into him, my head going onto his chest, my arm resting on his stomach.

  "Yeah."

  "Good. That was the point. You needed a good day."

  "I take it back," I said, taking a deep breath, breathing in his slight spicy scent. "It wasn't a good day."

  "No?" he asked, his fingers tracing up my arm.

  "No," I agreed with a nod. "I had a perfect day. Thank you, Sawyer," I said, giving him a squeeze. And then, good feelings so overwhelming, I felt like I might burst, I tilted my head up to look at him. He ducked his head down. Our eyes held gazes.

  "I know a way to make it even better," I suggested, the words coming out before I could think them through.

  "Oh yeah?" he asked, his hand moving over my shoulder and landing on my neck, his thumb stroking across my cheek. "Why don't you show me?" he suggested.

  I smiled, pushing up, putting a leg on either side of him, taking his face between both my hands.

  And then I showed him.

  FIFTEEN

  Riya -6/7 days

  "Riya," he said, his voice holding warning as his hands settled on my hips.

  "It's a bad idea," I said, nodding a little. "I know. I don't care," I added as I lowered my face toward his.

  My lips sealed over his on a small sighing sound, knowing this was it. I was going to get what I had wanted since the first day I met him. I wasn't going to fight it. I wasn't going to overthink it. I was just goin
g to experience it.

  Thinking could be done afterward.

  He let me set the pace and pressure, giving me slow and explorative like I wanted for a long couple of minutes as everything, even the movie on somewhat loud in the same room, seemed to fall away.

  His arms folded around the center of my back as he sat up straight. My hands fell from his face, wrapping around his shoulders as he took over, creating more pressure, his teeth digging into my lower lip hard enough for me to whimper.

  He was barely holding onto his control. I liked that. I liked to know that someone as in-control as him was losing it with me, because of me.

  So when he bent me slightly backward, his hand moving up to crush into the back of my skull, holding me still as his lips claimed mine harder, borderline bruising. I moaned and pressed my chest into his, sinking my hips down into his lap, feeling his hardness already there.

  His teeth snagged my lower lip again, harder, making my lips fall open on a surprised gasp. He took the opportunity and his tongue moved in to claim mine.

  That was exactly how I felt that moment- claimed.

  And I loved every second of it.

  He arched me backward, making my back curve then hit the mattress, my weight pressed fully onto my ankles, a full-on yoga position I would never be capable of in normal circumstances. But all my body could think about was fulfillment.

  More. Everything.

  Sawyer held his weight off of me as his lips claimed mine. His hand slid between us, grabbing the convenient zip of my onesie and pulling it down to my belly button. His hand whispered up my belly, over my ribs, then closed over my breast, squeezing it tight. My back arched up further, begging for more.

  His lips ripped from mine, going down on my neck and pressing into the pulse point as his hand slid up and under the cup of my bra, his thumb and forefinger grabbing my nipple and rolling it. I turned my head to the side, giving him more access.