Page 118 of Dropping the Ball

“It’s an entry-level watch if that makes you feel better,” I say. “It’s not expensive enough that you have to call it a timepiece. I chose one they described as ‘virtually indestructible’ so you can wear it to jobsites if you want. Not that you have to. Actually, this isn’t even—”

He leans over to kiss me. “I love it. I know we haven’t talked about money, but—”

“We don’t need to,” I tell him. “Not today. We can discuss whether my millionaire status is weird for you some other time.”

He laughs. “Fair enough.”

“That’s not even the gift,” I tell him. “I wanted you to have something to unwrap, but it’s more of a symbol.”

He pretends to think. “Time is running out? Kill time? A stitch in—”

“It’s the present.” When he cocks his head, waiting, I explain, “Your present is the present. As in I’m going to be more present.”

“Babe, I—” He stops, and we both break out laughing.

“Babe?” I gasp on a giggle.

“That sounded weird, didn’t it?”

“Yes, but no one has ever called me babe, and I like it. Keep going.”

“Babe”—he pauses for more giggling—“you don’t have to make up for how busy you are. You’re doing good things. It’s one of the things I . . .”

I hold my breath.

“That I admire about you.”

Oh, cool.

I take the box from him and slide the watch off. “I’m not apologizing. I know you get it. But I’ve been thinking more about what I want. What makes me happy. It’s changing a few priorities for me next year.”

“Oh, yeah?” The lines around his eyes doing their pre-smile activation. “Tell me more.”

“The bar exam, for example. I’ll still take it in February, but I’m cutting way back on the studying. If I don’t pass, I’ll try again in July.”

“Katie-Kat, you want to spend more time with me?”

“You’re not the worst.” I squeak as he hauls me into his lap.

“I accept,” he says, pressing a kiss against my neck. “Wearebuilding a relationship. Which brings us to your gift.”

He picks it up and sets it in my lap. It’s about the size of a Kleenex box, and it’s light.

I untie the ribbon and pull off the wrapping paper to reveal a Christmas corsage with red and white roses and gold-edged ribbon. It’s very pretty but also confusing. Before I can figure out what to say or possibly ask, Micah is lifting it out of its plastic box.

“I never got to ask you to prom,” he says, lifting my wrist to gently slide the corsage over it. “But I have this incredible event next week, and I wondered if you’ll be my date to the Threadwork Discovery Gala on New Year’s Eve.”

I slip out of his lap so I can kneel in front of him and look him in the eye. “Yes.”

“Yes to the gala at which I don’t expect you to wear this corsage?” he asks, smiling.

I reach out to cup his face, running my thumb over his cheekbone, loving the way the lights on the tree reflect in his brown eyes, giving them a Christmas gold warmth.

“Yes to this.” I lean in to kiss him. “This and everything.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Kaitlyn

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