It's hard to meet his gaze, and I can't think of a decent reply, not used to the flattery, so I start searching for some way to change the subject.
“What’s that?” I asked, looking from his molten eyes to the box in his hand.
He looks down at it, turning it over and over again.
“It’s, uh, your birthday present,” he murmured, closing the distance between us and holding it out to me, looking nervous. “I didn’t get the chance to give it to you last night.”
My face flushes, and I hesitantly take the box from his hands. Our fingers barely brush against one another, but it’s just enough to make me gasp from the shooting sparks that travel up my arm. Just like when he held my hand in front of my dad back at the cove.
My eyes jerk up to meet his as his eyes do the same. I can tell my touch
