Chance tugs my hand, and I follow him through the store entrance; we both stop just inside and stare at the chaos around us. Salesclerks and customers alike are frantic as they navigate from one counter to the next. Some people are shouting, hands gesticulating wildly as products are pulled down to sample, the ding of registers opening as transactions are made. It’s a madhouse.
At least now my shirt doesn’t look so ridiculous. I look down at the bright green fabric and white writing peeking out between the opening of my coat, It’s Beginning to Cost A Lot Like Christmas.
“Holy shit,” Chance says under his breath, and I just barely catch it over the cacophony surrounding us. It looks like over half of the mall patrons have congregated in this one store.
I start backing up, determined to escape the crazy for—hopefully—a less enthusiastic crowd while I search for the perfect gifts, but Chance doesn’t move. In fact, his grip on my hand tightens as if he means to hold me in place.
I look down at our joined hands and then back up to his face in confusion.
“Nope.” He shakes his head at me. “We’re doing this.”
“Are you insane? Look at them.” I wave my hand to indicate the humans who have apparently turned into savage animals.
“It will be fine,” he promises and I’m reluctant to agree this time. “Get your list, let’s pick a name and start.”
I reach into the pocket of my coat and pull out my phone. I navigate to the app where I’ve stored gift ideas for everyone and a running list of people to buy for.
“Let’s start with your sister and Kyle, we should be able to find something here for both of them,” I say as I swipe through the names on the screen.
“Sure.” Chance starts walking and navigates us through the perfume and makeup counters, his stride quick and sure. Probably to minimize the assault to his senses from the overwhelming scents filtering in the air.
Why is it that department stores somehow manage to always put the perfume department right at the entrance and then make sure the smell rivals that of a sixty-year-old woman? Is it something they special order to pipe in through the vents?
I’m still musing over the existence of a secret industry tailored to providing department store scents when Chance comes to a stop in front of the accessories section and points to a tote bag. “What about this?”
I eye both Chance and the bag skeptically. “You want me,” I point at my chest, “a man, to pick out a purse for your sister?”
“I don’t know. I was just trying to help.”
“Oh, love. I have a list of ideas for her already. Come this way.” I turn and head to the women’s clothing section.
“You won’t pick out a purse, but you’re going to buy her clothes?” Chance asks in apparent surprise.
“Not exactly.” I navigate us through the maze of racks of clothing, shelves of impulse buys, and people shopping until I reach the intimates section.
“You’re buying her lingerie?!” he screeches, and I turn to look at his face which is pulled up in a mix of horror and embarrassment. I have to say, it’s quite impressive that his voice can even get that high.
“No, you melodramatic man.” I gesture to the section of pajamas. “I was thinking of doing a whole ‘self-care’ basket for her. Pajamas, movies, candles, bath bombs, and wine. I want to give her a toolkit to pamper herself with. I’m also going to swing by the spa and get her a gift card.”
“Oh.” Chance’s posture relaxes as I explain. “She’d love that.”
I smile. “I hope so. She is nonstop all day long with those boys. A superhero of a mother if there ever was one, and I want to make sure she gets a chance to treat herself.”
“Trying to show me up?”
“Obviously. I need to make sure I win her over permanently.”
Chance reaches for me and hugs me to his chest. “You’ve already got her; she loves you and after this gift, I think you’ll solidify yourself as her favorite brother.”
“Then mission accomplished.” I hug him back. “Now, which of these do you think she’d like best?” I select and hold up two pajama bottoms made of silk, one white with blue flowers adorning the fabric while the other is drastically different, a solid dark burgundy.
“The red ones.”
“Perfect.”
We spend the next three hours navigating store after store as I pile up both sets of our arms with bag after bag of gifts for our family and friends. In addition to all of the pampering items I found for Ella, I also snagged a bonus gift that I can’t wait for her to see. It was just too perfect to pass up, which also sparked an idea for everyone else on my list; a special just-from-me touch to go along with their other items.
I almost feel sorry for the amount of stuff I bought for everyone as I watch Chance struggle to add another bag to his arm so we can leave. I reach out to steady him and take the bag from him to add to my own pile. “Come on. Let’s load this in the car and I’ll feed you lunch.”
He looks over at me, his expression filled with appreciation at me opting to end his misery and fill his stomach. “If I hadn’t already proposed to you, this right here would have been the moment.”
I laugh and shove his shoulder with my own. We make our way to the car and deftly start loading the bags into the trunk. Chance starts the car as I shove in the last bag and use most of my weight to slam it closed, forcing everything to fit.
I clamor around the passenger side and slide into the seat, slouching down and releasing a sigh as I buckle my seat belt. “That was worse than I thought it would be,” I admit.
“It wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it could have been,” Chance says and places his hand on my thigh. “Plus, you managed to get everyone off your list in one go. That was pretty impressive.”
“You can thank my exceptional organizational skills for that one. I had a plan, just not the time.”
“Oh really?” He lifts an eyebrow skeptically and squeezes me gently. “No time? Or just an unhealthy allegiance to procrastination?”
I admit nothing. I close my mouth and huff a breath through my nose.
He chuckles and releases my leg to focus on backing out of the parking space. “Raphael’s?”
I nod. “Mmm, yes…talk tacos to me baby.”
He makes a left turn at the signal and points us in the direction of our favorite Mexican restaurant.
After lunch, both of us are full and exceedingly happy as we head home to unload the extravagant number of things from the car.
“Jesus, Tyler. I think we brought home the whole damn mall,” Chance complains as he hefts bag after bag out of the trunk.
“Oh, please. This isn’t even half of what I wanted to buy.”
He looks at me in alarm and I smile at him innocently.
Like the good future husband he is, he doesn’t respond and simply carries the bags into the house. I follow him into the spare room next to mine and we set everything down on the floor.
The room has remained empty since he moved out of here and into my—our—room after his accident. Chance stands and stretches his back, reaching his arms over his head, revealing a glimpse of tanned skin under his shirt. How this man manages to keep a tan year-round, I’ll never know.