"Right on time," she says as I approach. "I was just telling George about that little café we found in Saint Lucia."
"The one with the dancing?" I ask, smiling at the memory.
"You danced, sir?" George asks, his eyes widening.
"Absolutely not," I reply firmly. "I have standards to maintain."
Elena laughs. "He watched me dance while maintaining a safe distance and his dignity."
We say goodbye to George and head outside, where Thomas has arranged for a car to take us to the restaurant. Once inside the privacy of the backseat, I take Elena's hand in mine.
"So, what's this mysterious news?" I ask.
"All in good time," she teases. "How was your morning?"
"Productive. The Anderson deal is looking good. And apparently, I'm making fewer junior analysts cry these days."
She laughs. "Vanessa?"
"Who else? She's surprisingly supportive of our relationship, by the way."
"Not that surprising," Elena says. "She cornered me in the ladies' room last week to tell me you're 'significantly less unbearable' now that we're together."
"High praise indeed," I say dryly.
At the restaurant, we're shown to our regular table, tucked away in a corner with a degree of privacy. The owner, Mario, greets us warmly—a far cry from the formal, slightly intimidated service I used to receive before Elena charmed the entire staff with her genuine interest in their lives and her surprisingly fluent Italian.
"So," I say once we've ordered, "are you going to tell me this news, or do I need to negotiate for the information?"
Elena smiles. "I had a call this morning from NYU."
"NYU?" I repeat, confused. "About what?"
"About the master's program in Corporate Communications," she says. "I applied last month, right after we got back from Saint Lucia. They've accepted me for the fall semester."
I stare at her, processing this unexpected information. "You're going back to school?"
She nods. "Part-time, evenings and weekends. I can keep working, just with a slightly adjusted schedule." She hesitates. "Are you upset?"
"Upset?" I shake my head, reaching for her hand across the table. "Why would I be upset? I'm proud of you. This is fantastic news."
The tension leaves her shoulders. "Really? I know it will mean some changes to our routine, less time together some days..."
"Elena," I interrupt gently, "I want you to pursue whatever makes you happy. If that's more education, different career opportunities, whatever, I support you completely. Besides, I can just visit you every single week."
Her smile is radiant. "Thank you. I was a little nervous about telling you."
"Why?"
She shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe because everything's been so perfect lately. I didn't want to disrupt that."
I squeeze her hand. "Nothing could disrupt what we have. Well, except maybe if you decided to become a Patriots fan. That might be a deal-breaker."
She laughs, the sound drawing smiles from nearby diners. "Never. I'm loyal to the Giants, even when they break my heart."
Our food arrives, and the conversation shifts to other topics—an upcoming charity gala we're attending, plans for the weekend. It's easy and comfortable, this rhythm we've developed.
Later, as we walk back toward the office, Elena's hand tucked into the crook of my arm, I find myself reflecting on how much has changed in a month. The Caribbean seems like another lifetime ago. Those first steps toward acknowledging what was building between us, the moment everything changed on that secluded beach.
