Amantha and I greet Blythe and her new fiancée, Robyn, before my phone vibrates with a text. Hope soars that it might be Liza, but it turns out to be Brandon.
BRANDON: Hey, I need some help with this grant application real quick before the event starts. Can you meet me in our office?
KATE: Can’t it wait until tomorrow?
BRANDON: No. It’ll only take a sec.
KATE: Ok. But you are on feet-heating duty tonight. No complaints. I mean it, Brandon. ONE complaint that my toes are ice…
BRANDON: I’ll heat whatever you tell me to heat. *wink
My face burns as Amantha snorts over my shoulder.
“Hey!” I exclaim, clutching my phone to my chest. “Those were private messages.”
“Privateindeed,” Amantha laughs. “But go. You’re not needed here at the moment.”
I’m already striding toward the employee entrance as I call, “Be back soon!”
My stilettos spike down the curation wing as I aim for our tiny office.
Brandon stands outside our door, and I almost stumble. His broad shoulders stretch his tuxedo jacket just enough that the fit looks intentional and not due to poor seamstressing. His dimples pop as I near, and it’s so very boyish.
“You look beautiful, love,” he murmurs, taking my hand and lifting it, revolving me into a slow spin. I turn in languid steps, and I hear him suck in a breath. With a reverent hand, he traces one of the lines of crystals across my left hip, above the tattoo that marks me his.
“You…” I swallow. “Need me for a grant application?”
“Nope.” He beams at me. “I lied. I have something for you.”
Brandon leads me inside our joke of an office, flipping on the light. Everything looks normal, but then I glimpse the chair in the corner. The tetanus one is gone, replaced by a plush cream leather office chair. I can practically feel the lumbar support from here.
My gaze whips to his. “You got me a new chair?”
Brandon’s eyes twinkle as he nuzzles his nose against mine. “Don’t be silly, tinkle monkey. That’s mine. I got youthat—” He nods toward an identical office chair behind the desk, only it’s black. “And I also got youthis—” He brandishes a shiny name plate and places it on the desk. The engraved letters spell out “THE Kate Chen.”
“The desk is yours,” he says.
A laugh rolls across my lips. Brandon looks like a child alight with the wonders of Christmas morning as he watches me take it all in. I laugh again.
“This is incredible, thank you! I love it,” I say.
“But not as much as you love me, right?” Brandon crouches, banding his arms around the beaded waist of my dress and lifting me in a circle. “Because that would be messed up.”
I lean down and nuzzle his nose. “Don’t worry, shmooksy-poo. Of course I love you more.”
His laugh rumbles against my chest.
“This is the best gift ever,” I say. “Thank you. And I also happen to have something for you as well.” I skirt around the small office to the desk drawer. “I mean, I was gonna wait until Monday, but…”
I retrieve a burnished bronze frame and place it in Brandon’s waiting hands.
“Our boardwalk photo?” His grin stretches from ear to ear.
“Yup, I thought it deserved a permanent spot on our desk.” I peek over his shoulder at the black and white versions of us in Marisol Bay, smiling awkwardly at the camera in front of the striped awning of The Wandering Click. “It feels like a lifetime ago.”
“It does. But I wouldn’t change a moment of how we got here, love.” Brandon’s lips have just met mine before his gold wristwatch beeps. I cough a laugh as he mutters, “What the hell is it with timers interrupting us?!” He sighs. “But that’s time. We’ve gotta go.”
“Time? What do you mean?”
