Page 7 of Twelve Days of Christmas (Sixty Five Hours #1.5)

ON THE SEVENTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS…

Work on Wednesday is hellish. We both finish up around seven; the office is almost empty, and I find myself sitting on his desk, waiting for him to wrap things up.

He groans tiredly, stretching his neck from side to side. “What did you want for dinner?”

I smile at him. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He stops and stares for a moment, so I prompt him. “On the seventh day of Christmas…” I pull out the small rectangular wrapped box from my breast pocket.

A slow smile spreads across his face. “I did forget, yes,” he admits. “It’s been a helluva day.”

I hand him the present, waiting for him to open it.

He smiles wistfully. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“This,” he says, holding up his gift. “The whole twelve days.”

“Just open it,” I tell him. I know it’s outlandish or even corny, but I want to spoil him.

He opens it slowly. It’s pretty obvious from the shape of the box that it’s a pen. But when he opens it to find what kind of pen it is, his head jerks up to look at me.

“Luc…”

I smile. I know what he’s about to say.

“Luc, this is…”

Beautiful. Extravagant.

Fucking expensive for a pen.

“…this is too much,” he says quietly. He looks at the Montblanc pen in his hand, and then back to me. His voice is quiet, “Why are you doing this?”

I walk around to his chair, bend down and kiss his lips. I tell him, “Because you’re worth it,” which is the truth.

Well, a half truth. Because it’s not like I can tell him the real reason.

He’ll know soon enough anyway. In four days… he’ll know in four days.