You don’t have to be anyone’s idea of “ready” to deserve good things.
Any real man who wants and sees you, will meet you right where you are.
Even if you’re still becoming.
And I’m just glad the journey brought you here… to me.
Even if just for a little while.
— Your Valentine,
Maison
By the time I finished reading, I had tears in my eyes. The kind that only show up when your heart feels safe. When it feels… held.
I looked at him, blinking, trying to smile through it. “You put a whole message in a bottle?”
He grinned, a little shy for once. “Yeah. You said you didn’t want to spend another holiday alone, so I figured… I’d be the man who showed up.”
And damn if he hadn’t. And maybe it was temporary. Maybe it was a moment in time. But it was a moment that was changing me piece by piece, kiss by kiss, laugh by laugh.
I leaned in, kissed him slow, and whispered, “Thank you for this. All of this.”
He kissed my forehead and said, “You deserve to feel this good because you are this good.”
We left the gondola ride since Maison said he wanted to take me to an early dinner.
I had to sit still for a second because damn. The rooftop was beautiful as hell. Black string lights draped like stars across the open sky, flickering above the tables dressed in white linens and candles.
Maison reached for my hand as we were escorted to a table at the edge of the rooftop, overlooking New Orleans. It felt like time slowed down just for us.
“You good?” he asked as we sat.
“Yeah,” I smiled, looking around. “This some grown-ass romance right here.”
He laughed. “Only the best for my Valentine.”
A waiter came with menus and wine. I didn’t even bother looking at the drink list. “I’ll have whatever you’re having,” I told him.
He leaned closer. “You trust me that much?”
I raised an eyebrow. “I mean… you already fed me naked while telling me your grandma’s gumbo recipe. At this point, I trust you too much.”
He burst out laughing and ordered us two glasses of red, then turned back to the menu. “You ever had BBQ shrimp?”
I squinted. “You mean like shrimp with barbecue sauce?”
He chuckled. “Nah, baby. It’s a New Orleans thing. Head-on shrimp in this buttery, peppery, spicy sauce. You sop it up with bread. It’s messy but worth it.”
“Messy but worth it. Story of my damn life,” I said, then grinned. “Order it. Let me live.”
And live, I did.
When that plate hit the table, the aroma alone made me close my eyes. One bite in, and I had to grab the edge of the table. “Oh my God. This ain’t even food, this a religious experience.”
He grinned like he’d been waiting on that moment. “I knew you’d like it.”
I didn’t just like it. I was ready to fight him over the last shrimp.
