Page 141 of The Design of Goodbye
“You said you liked challenging ones.” I pointed to the box, which contained two thousand and twenty-nine puzzle pieces in random shapes and colors. “I read it was really difficult.”
“Thanks. I’m looking forward to the challenge.” He set the puzzle next to him and grabbed his other present. After he opened it, though, he froze. Was I imagining it, or was he frowning?
Oh no.
Ohno.
I’d barely slept last night, worried how he’d take my impulsive gift, and his reaction was proving my concerns valid.
“It was a bad idea,” I said. I went to grab the gift from him, but he moved it out of my reach. “I thought you might—”
“How did you get this?” He touched the carrot nose of the wooden snowman like he didn’t believe it was real. I was having a hard time reading him. Was he upset? Because, now, I think he was staring at it in awe. “Did you steal it?”
“Not exactly.”
He didn’t need to know my dad and I had knocked on the family’s front door last night. How I’d explained in a rush what the snowman sitting on their porch steps meant to my boyfriend andwhyit did, and could I please buy it from them. Without question, they’d given it to me and refused any money.
“I’m confused,” I said. “Do you like it?”
“I love it,” he said. “I’m sorry—I’m shocked. Thank you.” He leaned forward, held the side of my face with his palm, and kissed me. “Now it’s your turn.”
He set the snowman down in a corner of the fort before saying, “It’s not much.”
“I’m going to love it.”
I was surprised when he pulled out a gift that was wrapped. It was wrapped well, too, like he’d taken extra time to make sure it was perfect. I unwrapped it carefully. At first, I thought he’d bought me a sketchbook but then I noticed the worn corners and the paint splattered on the cover. I opened to the first page: a watercolor painting of pine trees in winter, their needles covered in snow. The next page was Lake Michigan during an ice storm.
“Is it okay?” he asked.
I’d been so entranced I hadn’t thanked him. He was sitting there, nervous, like I’d been minutes ago. I closed the sketchbook and held it against my chest. “I love it.”
“You liked looking through my other sketchbook, so I thought you might like to have one.”
“It’s perfect.”
He smiled, relieved. “One more.” He put his hand in his backpack but didn’t move to take anything out. “Lie down and close your eyes.” I did as asked, and a few seconds later, he said, “Open them.”
He was holding a brownie near my lips. “What kind is it?” I asked.
“Taste it.”
I took a bite. “Is that a pumpkin spice brownie?”
“Yeah.” His voice was still deep. I shivered. “Is it good?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Good,” he whispered. “Because I made it.”
“You did?”
“Geez.” He laughed. “You don’t need to look so surprised.”
“Can’t help it,” I said, giggling. “I can’t stop thinking of that one time you tried to make grilled cheese.”
He winced. “Yeah, okay. Fair.” Then he admitted, “And fine. I had some help.”
“Who helped you?”
