She had to get out of his house. The whole silent place was a rebuke to all of her dreams.
“Gilly-Bean.”
She spun so fast she was dizzy. It wasn't just the tease of her nickname. It was the tenderness in his voice. He was standing, hands shoved into his pockets and brow line furrowing to the top of his scalp. It wasn’t a look that should have forced her into a smile.
“What's in the box?”
Was it a trick question? “Bacon and spinach pizza.”
He didn't step towards her; she'd have been able to tell if he was stepping towards her. But still he seemed closer. “Not that box.” He nodded towards the chair.
She'd have laughed if any of that breath of hers had returned yet. She wasn't as good at plans as she'd thought. “It's a gift for you. If you want it.”
His brow cleared and his cheek creased in a half smile. “Will I want it?”
She cleared her throat. “Kind of depends on whether you want me.”
“Will it sway me one way or the other?” God, how could he tease her? He was too sweet and sunny for this torture. But here they were.
“I don't know. Just open it already and then you can decide.”
“Seems like you might want to open it for me.”
Oh, could he not enjoying her tension? It was unfair.
He crossed his arms and leaned back against the kitchen counter. “You tricked your way into my house. Seems like you had a reason, and the pizza wasn't it.”
She would throw things at him if he weren't so generous and patient and sexy all the rest of the time. “Fine,” she bit out and snatched up the box. “It's just a token. It's not like these are as good as yours. I never would say that.”
She fumbled open the flaps and set to battling the plasticky padding around the frame. He stilled her hand and took it from her.
“It's a picture?” He slid it from the box and deftly managed the wrapping.
“It's four pictures. Well, three.” She stated the obvious. He could see the collage frame for himself. “Like I said, they're not professional like yours. But at least the frame looked like a match to what you have in there. Those ones with your family and Anton and everything.” She shushed, because what on earth was she even going to say when the pictures each spoke their own thousand words? Let him respond to them however he would.
Except it turned out she couldn't let things speak for themselves. It was the problem with being a linguist. He could use pictures, but she had to use words. “I asked our friends for help. The gals, the husbands. Everybody went through their cameras and phones and stuff until they found all these different options. I didn't even imagine there were so many pictures of you and me. Anton picked the final ones. I came up with a shortlist and made him pick which were the best.”
He gazed up at her. “Gillian.”
“I mean, it's just a gesture. I'm not a Valentine's Day and elegant dates and all that kind of person, like I said. I'm just me, but ….” She looked back at the frame.
The first picture was her and Anton gazing at each other on New Year's Eve, confetti in the air proving it was just past midnight.
The second, a surprise contribution from Jorge, caught them laughing and leaning into each other while dancing the Hora around Natalie and Evan.
The third had mortified her when she’d first seen it. It was one Evan had taken during Rachel and Theo's reception. Vic was raising his camera to the group of them at the head table. His lens blocked the view of everyone else, but she was perfectly in focus, and completely focused on him. Watching him with her heart in her eyes.
“Gillian,” he said again, a near-whisper.
“I am not a big fancy party person,” she said, maybe for the dozenth time since she arrived. “I've never imagined marriage for myself, or even anything that might get serious. But I think I've been cheating myself that way. I think if I’d allowed myself to break out of thinking about everything in traditional roles, and just thought about my dreams sooner, I’d have realized those dreams can include being committed. Can include being so damn in love with someone like you.”
He was so close to her now, the frame resting face up on the table between them. He touched the empty slot. He was a picture-worth-a-thousand-words man, so she understood the question without him having to voice it.
“I was thinking that someday, we might move in together. Or something. And then we could have, like, a housewarming party. And maybe when we do that, we could count that as some sort of, you know, big moment for you and me. A commitment to be together. To love each other. If that sounds okay to you, once you believe that I really do love you for you and not because any wrong thinking of mine. And once you can trust me to be there when you need me. So then if we do something like that. God. This sounds so ridiculous now. I'm sorry, but it was the plan, and I'm going to tell you the plan. So the plan is that we have this party, and someone takes a picture of us, and we can add it in here, and it could be the next step on our journey together. If you want to take a journey with me.”
She stepped back. Because the plan was to give him space and time. The plan was to say her piece, give him the photos, and wait. However long it took.
She filled her lungs again. “Okay. So, if you want to call me. Or just show up. Or tell me to come here.” Damn, she was crying. “I’ll fit it all into your schedule. Whatever you need. I want to make that room for you.”
And maybe her plan worked. Something in his soul-soft eyes clued her in. Maybe she could staunch her tears and squelch her fears and believe how Anton told her that her plan was enough. That all she had to do was let him know that she was gone for him and they'd work it out just fine. She hadn't even had the sisterly spite to goad him about him and Cisco. But he hadn't been a bratty brother and warned Vic what she was up to.
She risked a longer look at her beloved. His eyes were still tracing the framed photos, shoulders relaxed and wide enough to brace herself against while she waited for his verdict. Because even though the plan was to walk away and let her pictures ask their thousands of questions while he decided how to answer them, she'd done enough research to know that sometimes the plan had to change on the fly. She inched towards those solid shoulders. Felt the warmth he radiated reflecting back on her face, as she relaxed into stillness, finally ready to drop her defenses and accept, unguarded, whatever he had to say.