He also turned over the job offers. Yet another company he had options in failed. His stack of lottery tickets was slowly migrating to the trash can, as fate took the numbered balls out of the hopper and more startups closed.

He drove his truck to Portola Redwoods State Park one night, hiked in, and cut down a small redwood, then cut the limbs away.

He brought it home, whittled away at it for a few days, checked the local events calendar, and found what he needed.

Two days before Christmas, in her apartment, Peyton set her gift on the coffee table. It was wrapped immaculately. Desmond hadn’t wrapped his. He felt nervous instantly.

He tore off the wrapping paper, revealing a cardboard box. He opened it and found a map lying on top of another box, also wrapped. He picked up the map and unfolded it. Cities were highlighted in yellow: London, England. Heidelberg, Germany. Hong Kong. Two small towns in Scotland, one in Ireland, and another in southern China.

“Yellow is where my family is from,” Peyton said. “Parents. Grandparents.”

Desmond studied the rest of the map. There were two dozen green marks.

“Green is all the places I’d like to go with you, Des. Someday.”

He swallowed and fell silent, staring at it like he was reading a judge’s death sentence. She had plans for them. And she’d been thinking about them for a while.

“Open the next one,” she said, excited, oblivious to his anxiety.

The next box contained a miniature figure of a mermaid on a small spring. The base was emblazoned with the words “Palo Alto.”

“Closest I could get,” she said. She stared at him expectantly. “Any guesses?”

“Uh…”

“Come on.”

“Your favorite movie is The Little Mermaid?”

She socked him hard in the shoulder.

“No. I was on the swim team. In high school.”

“Oh. Of course. How could I have missed it? It’s so obvious now.”

Beneath the mermaid was a third box. She didn’t encourage him to open this one. In fact, she seemed nervous about it, as if she had changed her mind. She looked away as Desmond tore the wrapping paper.

The object inside the last box was small. His fingers wrapped around it, lifted it out.

It was a glass object, heart-shaped, red.

“I love you, Des,” she said.

He tucked it in his pocket, leaned forward, and kissed her.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” he said.

She smiled quickly, clearly disappointed, but rolled her eyes, trying to seem playful, unbothered. “Jeez, what are you, a lawyer now?”

“I mean it.” He held up the glass heart. “But I’m not like you. My heart isn’t like yours.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your heart, Desmond.” She stared at him.

With increasing frequency, he had wondered if that was true.

“Okay, what did you get me?” she asked, eager.