Looking down at the clipboard he’s holding, he looks up at me and says nothing, just shoving the clipboard toward me and pointing to where I need to sign.
A little bright green tab in all the places, and a part of me wants to ask him if I can keep the tabs too, a reminder of the first major thing I’ve signed my name on in all of this.
Miles owns the building.Essentially, he’s my landlord, but we both know that isn’t true.He may have bought it, signed for it, and presented it to me, but it’s mine.
My name on the sign.
My dream coming true.
And he’s letting me have all the creative control, something I will never be able to thank him enough for.
Miles wraps an arm around my shoulders as we watch the men load the sign onto a crane, lifting it up so it’s centered on the building, but it’s still covered with a dark green tarp.
We haven’t seen it, and I turn to Miles and say, “What if it’s the wrong sign?What if they’re about to hang up a sign that says, ‘Pussy Cat Gentlemen’s Club’ or ‘Australian Bush Company’ in reference to a strip club because they got the wrong island, and that’s why it’s early?”
He turns to look at me, slow blinking, his face a wash with mock annoyance.“You can’t be serious, right?”
“I am.I’m in panic mode, Miles.This place is opening soon, and what if this is all fucked up?”
“I hope the sign does say ‘Australian Bush Company’ because that’s fucking hilarious.You should trademark that shit and sell it to someone opening a club in Australia,” Miles teases, but I’m not laughing.
If anything, I’m this mix of nervousness and fear, excitement and anxiety, feeling like I might puke right here on the sidewalk.
That is, if my knees don’t give out first because when they remove the tarp, I nearly lose it.
Seeing it for the first time, right here in front of me, real and life-size, is more than I ever expected.Sloane’s design is coming to life, and I can’t hold back the tears.
There’s my name, big and bold for everyone to see.
“What do you think?”Miles asks, pulling me close.He drops a kiss to the top of my head.“The first time I saw the band’s name on a marquee, I wanted to cry too.”
His admission has the tears flowing even more.I sniff, swiping a hand at my now-wet cheeks.
Holding me tighter, we watch the guys put the last few mounting brackets up and attach the sign.And that’s it.Simple and quick, but in my mind, we’ve been standing here for hours.
A delayed response, but I’m sure he understands.I answer back with, “I have no words.”And I really don’t.
It feels unreal, like a dream, and I’ll wake up any moment, wishing like hell I could go back to sleep and relive it.
Like he can read my thoughts, he says, “It’s real, Daze.”
All I can do is nod, a feeling of being overwhelmed taking over as we stand together, just staring at the sign.
We don’t speak, a companionable silence passing between us as we just enjoy this moment.There is no one else in the world that I would want to share this with than him.
I wasn’t with Miles the first time he played a sold-out show or when he saw the band’s name on a marquee, but I was there the first time his song played on the radio, and it’s a feeling I will never forget.
This is a day right up there with it too.
The truck pulls away, and I turn, waving at the guys like a total fool, but between the nervousness and fear, there’s just pure excitement.
“You are too much,” Miles jokes, but the smile falls from his face within seconds.
I quickly look to where his eyes are now focused, and standing across the street is Isaac.
“Sign looks great,” he says, this disgusting twist of sourness to his words.“Hundred feet,” he adds smugly before walking away.
He knows exactly what he’s doing, skating a fine line between legal and illegal, never crossing over because he knows I’ll call the police.
