“Come on. I’ll show you.”
“I was thinking you’d propose tonight. It being our anniversary and all, but we’re already married.”
“We’re PACsed,” I reply, though she very well knows this. “Not officially married.”
“As good as.”
I sniff, leading her to the door at the end of the hall in quiet disagreement. The civil union is a wonderful option, created to give couples the opportunity to be together without the legal ramifications of marriage. But I want more. I want the real thing. I want permanence.
I just hope the idea doesn’t frighten her.
“Go on,” I tell her, pointing to the lift’s call button. “Push it.”
She looks as cheeky as a child when she obeys before stepping back to take in the view. She sniffs. “Smells like paint.” The lift slides smoothly into view. “Wow. Look at this thing. Is it art deco?”
“It is.” I let a little pride into my voice.
“What is this place? Just a door and a hallway with a fancy elevator? This is weird.”
“It is, isn’t it?” I can’t help but grin. “You love weird.”
The lift slides fully into view, lit up like a Christmas tree. The interior is gorgeous, the glossy wood entirely refinished, peacock blue velvet insets recently replaced.
“Oh my God, what is this place?” she whispers, stepping inside like Alice through the looking glass. “How did you find this?”
I meet her gaze in the mirror and follow her inside. “I’ve been looking all year.”
“Is this it? Your second pub?”
“Let me show you.”
I push the lift’s only button—vintage brass polished to a pristine finish—and enjoy the slow, smooth rise, so unlike the one we first kissed in.
At the top, the doors open to reveal a still-unfinished space. Cozy, like my pub, but big enough for two dozen tables with leather armchairs and plush settees. The decor is yet to come. For now, it’s been gutted, the place ready and waiting for us to make it ours. I know that Jules will have thoughts on furniture and decor. I can’t wait to hear them.
“I was thinking a speakeasy.”
“Oh my God, it’s perfect. You could call it The Lift!” she gasps, reading my mind.
“The Lift,” I agree. “D’you like it?”
“Yes, yes, oh my God, yes! It’s so…” She turns, in front of a set of black ironwork French doors leading outside. “Where does this go? Can I open these?”
“Here.” I step up and unlock them with my new set of keys, flinging them wide to let in the sounds and smells and sights of the city that brought us together.
Hand in hand, we walk onto the massive terrace. The selling point, for most. Not for me, obviously. What sold me on this place was the lift. But the private rooftop view of the river and the city skyline beyond were a close second.
“It’ll be packed all the time.”
“I know. I’ll have to hire help. I’ll be busy.”
“We’llbe busy. Oh my God, I can’t wait.”
“You like it, then?”
She turns, incredulous. “I freaking love it.”
“Yeah? All right. But do youfuckinglove it, darling?”
