The morning sun filtered through Quinn's window, waking her from a surprisingly pleasant sleep. She stretched, recalling the events of the gala and—unfortunately—the laughter and charm of one particular neighbor.
Ethan Reed.
The man had the nerve to tease her all night, and she couldn't deny that she'd enjoyed every minute of it. But Quinn wasn't about to admit that, not even to herself. No, she'd simply repay him for that little box of chocolate he sent the other day.
And maybe, just maybe, one-upping him in the process wouldn't hurt.
---
Hours later, Ethan arrived home from a morning jog to find a package sitting innocently by his door. His first instinct was a sigh—after all, package mishaps had become a weirdly regular part of his life recently. But this time, when he spotted the note taped to the top, his curiosity piqued.
The note was simple, written in Quinn's elegant handwriting: "Thought I'd return the favor. – Quinn"
Inside was an elaborately wrapped box with—of all things—a small, vintage coffee set. He chuckled, genuinely amused. Trust her to pick something with both charm and an edge of humor, a thank-you gift with a slightly ironic twist.
"Touché, Quinn," he murmured, holding the box as if it were a challenge, not a gift.
Without wasting a moment, he pulled out his phone and ordered something unique, something that would make her think twice about her own cleverness.
---
The following day, Quinn stepped out of her condo, dressed and ready to conquer her day, only to be greeted by yet another package at her door. Her eyebrow arched as she eyed it. Who could possibly be delivering things to her so early?
Then she saw the little card clipped to it: "One good gift deserves another. Enjoy. – Ethan"
"Oh, this guy," she muttered, feeling a mix of laughter and mild irritation.
Opening it in her living room, she found an exotic set of teas, complete with an intricate teapot and instructions for a traditional tea ceremony. It was over-the-top, indulgent, and absolutely perfect for his personality: mysterious, a little grand, and absolutely smug.
A laugh bubbled out of her. Ethan Reed was playing hardball.
So, naturally, she had to step it up.
---
Two days later, Ethan received another delivery. This one was clearly from Quinn, considering the obnoxious red ribbon and another note, neatly printed: "Because I heard you're a fan of the finer things. – Quinn"
Inside was a crystal wine decanter, absurdly luxurious and almost impractical, but Ethan had to admit, he was impressed. She wasn't letting this go easily.
Alright, Quinn, he thought, game on.
---
The gift war continued for nearly a week. First, Ethan had a bouquet of elegant orchids sent to her office, signed with a small note: "Figured you could use a little color."
Then, Quinn upped her game by sending a designer watch. It was sleek, with an intricate, sophisticated design—perfect for Ethan's style.
Their back-and-forth went on, each gift more outlandish and perfectly curated than the last, until finally, one night, Quinn found herself scrolling through ideas online, her brows furrowed in concentration. This was getting ridiculous. The man had to have spent a small fortune by now, and she wasn't even sure what point either of them was trying to make.
She sighed, knowing her next move had to be strategic.
It's time to call a truce.
---
The next morning, Quinn carried her peace offering—a simple potted cactus plant, tied with a tiny card, and knocked on Ethan's door. He opened it, looking both amused and intrigued to see her standing there with the little plant held up like an olive branch.
"Before you say anything," she interrupted, holding out the cactus, "this is my official surrender."
Ethan's mouth curved up in a smile. "Surrender? I thought we were just getting started."
She laughed, shaking her head. "Trust me, Ethan, I have no intention of going bankrupt over this. Besides, I'm not sure my assistant would survive another round of exotic gift shopping on my behalf."
"Well," he said, taking the cactus from her, "I appreciate your generosity, Quinn. Or should I say… Sierra?"
Quinn paused, caught off guard, as a soft blush crept up her cheeks. The way he said her full name was almost too familiar, too comfortable—and surprisingly, she didn't mind.
A small smile played on her lips. "I suppose, for you, Sierra works. But don't push your luck."
He chuckled. "Noted, Sierra."
They stood there for a moment, an easy silence between them, and she felt a warmth she hadn't expected, something light and pleasant. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts.
"Anyway," she said, breaking the quiet, "thank you, Ethan. For the gifts… and for letting me keep my sanity in this crazy week."
"Anytime," he replied, his gaze steady and warm. "But don't think I'll forget this little truce. Next time, I won't go so easy on you."
She rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. "Next time, I'll be ready."
And with that, she turned, heading back to her condo with a lighter step and a grin she couldn't quite wipe away. It seemed that, in their strange little war, they'd stumbled into something neither of them could have expected—a tentative friendship, built on humor, shared gifts, and an undeniable spark.