Page 73 of Giovanni
I freeze, bags in hand, and caught off guard. I hadn’t anticipated this scenario and am momentarily unsure how to proceed. The balloons swish softly against the vent, and the smell of the white lilies permeates the room. I’m pleasantly surprised to see my card opened and lying on the table’s edge, pulled close to her bed. Reading it and not having torn it to shreds is a good sign.
Deciding to proceed with my surprise, I step further into the room, careful not to wake her, as I set the bag in the chair I occupied this morning. Unpacking the contents, I start with the dozen mini LED candles representing a candlelight dinner and quietly open the packages. I watch her as I activate each one and set them around her room before shutting off all the overhead lights except the one behind her bed.
I smile at the warm ambiance it creates in this otherwise sterile room. Retrieving my phone from my pocket and the speaker from the bag, I select the playlist from our first night together. The one she later told me that she liked. Careful to ensure I don’t wake her until everything is set up, I leave the music on low and set the speaker across the room. Next is the chilled, non-alcoholic sparkling wine with far too much sugar than we should have, but that is a worry for another time. Iquietly pop the top and pour it into the only plastic champagne glasses I could find at the store with Happy New Year’s emblazed across them.
Once those are arranged on her table, I quickly glance toward Kacie to confirm she’s still asleep. Assured she hasn’t been disturbed, I turn around to place my gift beside the speakers. Next, I carefully unpack the deli-prepared meal, chosen specifically for its low sodium content and high nutritional value, ensuring it aligns with her health needs.
Two emerald eyes watch me intently when I place it with the plastic utensils and plates beside the sparkling wine. Having been caught red-handed and not entirely prepared for how to start my big speech, I smile.
“Hi, Kac.”
Exhaustion is etched deeply across her beautiful features. Her eyes, usually so vibrant and full of life, now appear tired and heavy-lidded. The hospital gown slips off her shoulder, revealing the smooth, silky skin I’ve always cherished. Her hair, ordinarily well-kept and lustrous, lies somewhat disheveled around her face. It looks like she’s had a long day.
“What?” Her voice cracks forcing her to clear her throat before trying again. “What is all this?”
That seedling of hope grows a little more when she doesn’t outright throw me out like she did this morning.
“My grand gesture,” I say proudly, moving closer to set the food and utensils down.
A soft chuckle escapes her lips, a sound so heartwarmingly familiar yet painfully rare these past days. It ignites a desire in me to keep her chuckling, to erode the tension between us until the memory of the misunderstood photo fades away and she reassures me we’ll be okay.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to announce it’s a grand gesture.” A faint sparkle returns to her tired eyes.
“Are you sure? Because that movie with the guy, he paints a house for her, and they live happily ever after.”
Her head tilts, with a question in her expression.
“What movie?”
“I honestly have no idea,” I admit, a bit sheepishly, and then quickly add, “I’m pretty sure the hospital won’t let me paint your walls, so I thought maybe another sleepover? Albeit in a different location?”
“And the suit?”
She raises a weak hand and slides down the front, ensuring it’s not too wrinkled from the truck since I didn’t take my coat off when driving.
“Because it makes me look good, and I wanted to look good for you . . . for this date.”
My heart races that this gesture, this moment, might be the turning point for us.
“That’s very sweet of you. And you do look handsome.”
Her gaze travels around the room, taking in everything I brought. An awkwardness settles between us when her eyes return to mine. I fidget, not knowing if I should drive right in on what’s happening between us or put it off so I have more time with her in case she decides to end it with me.
“What did you bring?”
She takes charge of the situation, and my shoulders drop in relief. I’ll easily let her control this situation as my previous confidence walking in here is ebbing away. I dive in, explaining the meal I brought, how I assumed she’d be on a restricted diet, and discussed everything with the store kitchen manager. She chuckles, and my story grows bigger, exaggerating parts such as the glasses being in the clearance section to keep the lightness going between us.
One taste of the wine has us both making faces and wanting to spit it out. It’s absolutely terrible. When she remarks that thewine at my place the other night was so much better, I dump out those glasses, jog down to the vending machine and get us a couple of drinks to pour into our glasses.
She even lets me fake a New Year’s Eve toast with our glasses. The mood lightens, and it’s starting to feel like us—laughing, teasing, and enjoying each other’s company. I couldn’t be happier. As I carefully remove the lid from the prepared meal, a warm, inviting aroma wafts through the room, bridging the gap between us. Gently, I maneuver the tray table across her bed, positioning it just right, and then I take a vacant spot down by her feet.
No sooner does she take a small bite of the dish than her expression changes. Her nose wrinkles and disgust crosses her features while she slowly finishes and washes it down with her soda.
“That bad?”
My fork hovers above the dish, intending to let her eat as much as she wants, if not all of it. Judging from her face, the rest of it is fair game.
“Try it.”
