I get closer, but only enough to admire the blue ribbon wrapped around the white box. “Why did you get me a gift?” I ask, loud enough for him to hear me in the living room.

“Because I wanted to.”

Startled because he’s right behind me, I playfully elbow him in the abs. “But I don’t have anything for you.”

“That’s not the point of a gift.” He lifts me and plants me right in front of the present. “Open it. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Fine.” It feels weird to get a gift out of nowhere, and I wish I had something to give him in return. “If it’s not a big deal, just tell me what it is.” I run my finger under the ribbon because it’s too pretty to mess up. It’s a fancy box like I’ve seen in the movies—one where the ribbon comes off the top—and not how people wrap presents in real life.

Harbor sits on the bed next to the box just as I lift the lid and move the tissue aside. I’m already smiling and glance his way. “You did not.”

“See? No big deal.”

“It’s a big deal, babe. It’s a big freakin’ deal, and I love it.”

I pull the shirt out of the box and hold it up in front of me. I can’t resist. I toss it to him and pull my own shirt off over my head. Standing there without a bra or shirt on, Harbor says, “I would have given you this sooner if I’d known I would get to see those tits.”

“Tits. It’s so, I don’t know. Vulgar.”

Shrugging, I say, “I think it’s direct.” He reaches forward and squeezes both at the same time. I stand in front of him and take my gift back, slipping the shirt over my head as he kneads anyway.

“That it is.” But I don’t know if I stand by that the way I used to or even vocalized. He never calls them tits in a crude way, but almost reverential. And what he’s doing now feels so good that I consider leaving the jersey off a little longer just to let him continue.

But I’m too excited over this gift, and the fabric comes down. I run into the bathroom to take a look. From the bedroom, he asks, “How do you like it?”

“It fits perfectly.” A little baggy so I can wear a shirt underneath when it gets cold, but it has a nice cut to follow the lines of my waist. I look at myself from every angle, smiling so much my cheeks start hurting. “How do I like it?” Admiring it a little longer in the mirror, I then turn to run into the bedroom and tackle him on the bed. Straddling him with my legs, I run my fingertips over the detailing of the team’s name, the blue embroidered edges even nicer than I remember. “It’s the best present I’ve ever got.”