I was too choked up to speak, at least initially. A key. To my own car. To the company car. And a job offer…”
“I… I can’t…”
“Yes you can, Holly. Please.”
Somehow I regained control. Pushing my emotions down for a moment, to keep them in check, I gently squeezed his hand.
“No, Lincoln listen to me. I’ll take the job. God knows I need it! The place I’m at now is a total dead end.”
The relief in his grin told me he’d been worried. There was a part of him that didn’t think I could work with him, or that I would take the offer. But I wasn’t finished.
“I can do good for you,” I said. “Good for us…” I smiled and opened his hand with mine. “But I can’t take the car.”
He looked down as I pushed the key into his palm. His face was expressionless.
“I’ve managed to save a little money,” I said, “and I’ve got my eye on a few options. For reasons I don’t expect you to understand, I need to buy my own car. This one little thing, I need to do by myself.”
His eyes flashed. My eyebrows came together as I saw the corner of his mouth twist into a grin.
“What?”
“Well I thought you might say that,” he smiled again. “So I came prepared.”
He took the back the key, and held out his other hand. “I’m not gonna be the boyfriend who gave you a job for Christmas,” he said with a laugh. “Not just a job, anyway. So here, I’d like you to meet present number two: pretty jewelry.”
Lincoln opened one big fist. Curled inside was a breathtaking gold tennis bracelet, shimmering with diamonds.
Tears flooded my eyes. He took my hand again, and I held my wrist out while he clasped it on.
“Better?”
“Much!” I nodded, tears streaming down my cheeks as I hugged him. “Pretty jewelry is definitely a present I can get behind!”
Lincoln laughed. “Thought so.”
I was still staring at my gift, watching it shimmer with each change of the Christmas tree lights, when Lincoln tossed the other little box to Donovan. One hand snapped up reflexively, and he caught it easily.
“Pretty jewelry?” Donovan quipped.
“Not even close.”
We all watched as he undid the ribbon and opened the box. Inside was another key, gleaming, shining brightly. But it wasn’t a car key.
“What’s this?” he laughed, but his laugh was nervous.
“That,” said Lincoln, “is the key to Donovan’s…”
Fifty-Nine
HOLLY
For a few seconds, the apartment was so silent we could hear the traffic outside. I was hyper-aware of everything: the blinking lights, the distant rumble of the building’s elevators moving somewhere beneath us. A ‘click’ from the kitchen, as the compressor for the refrigerator kicked on.
Donovan was still staring at the key. He hadn’t looked up. “You’re not serious…” he breathed.
“Oh I’m quite serious.”
“Donovan’s.”