By quarter past eight, Vanessa hadn't arrived and I was starting to get twitchy. Simone kept glancing over, her eyes sympathetic. Van was always on time and usually early, being late was a shit sign that she'd changed her mind and had decided that I wasn't worth taking a risk on.
Her text messages were imprinted on my brain; as was the photo of the flowers I'd sent. I'd purposely avoided commenting or sending messages that needed a response until today, knowing I needed to give her space to make her own mind up. My girl did not do too well when she wasn't controlling the situation – other than in the bedroom.
I was just about to switch my phone on to see if she'd sent me a text when I saw Simone leading Vanessa through the restaurant to me, the sympathetic expression gone from Simone's face and instead she looked quietly excited. I stood up, fidgeting with my hair and took in the sight of Vanessa, wearing the dress and shoes I'd sent her, her hair up in some complicated style that would be a fucking nightmare to take down later – I knew from experience with my sisters' hair. She looked like my every wet dream, every fantasy and my home wrapped into one. I pulled her chair out for her to sit down, knowing full well that she might say she was perfectly capable of doing it herself, but I'd be damned if I didn't use the manners that Marie and my father had instilled into me, because that was who I was.
"Thank you," she said, no comment at all about the chair. "And I'm so sorry I'm late. The girl who put my hair up took ages and Uber seemed to be having a meltdown. And I'm sorry for everything else I've got to be sorry for too."
She was quiet, looking at me, waiting for me to speak. I sat back in my chair and waited, giving her the floor.
A smile was cracked, she touched her hair, played with the empty glass. "I know Sophie got in touch with Claire and Claire told you why I broke it off with you. I'm sorry I didn't explain things myself, but at that point I needed distance," she said, her eyes glistening. I didn't want her to cry, she didn't need to.
Reaching over, I poured her a glass of champagne. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the conversation I had with Roger. It was never meant to make you think I was pulling a favor by getting him to go with your firm..."
"He explained that today. I was just so used to that being how Richard worked and I shouldn't have judged you the same. This has been so quick, Jackson. I think when I finally caught my breath I just went into panic mode," she said, starting to sip the champagne and I realized how nervous she was, my chest in pain as it felt so constricted.
I finished my whiskey, thinking, trying to choose words that wouldn't send her running. "I get it and I'm want to move on from it, but only if you're all in. It's been shit not having you for the past few days. I've hated not having you in my bed, in my home, hated not being able to phone you or text you something stupid, and without you being there I've been a miserable fucktard of a boss. But I need you to not just be on the same fucking page as me, I need you on the same fucking line." I took a deep breath, holding on to the table with my fingertips.
"Tell me what that is, Jacks. Tell me what you need to know."
I looked down at the menu I hadn't even considered yet. "You're here. Can I assume that you don't want us to be over?" I needed clarification before I could continue.
"Yes," she said, certainty in her voice. "I wish I could go back and just talk to you rather than have hurt you. You make me happy and the past few weeks have made me feel more than just a woman who runs a business."
"A very successful woman who developed and runs a very successful business and I can't tell you how proud I felt when I told Roger about you and could say that you were mine."
She looked down at the table and I saw a tear drop onto the cloth.
"Don't cry, Van. I haven't brought you here to soak Simone's tablecloth." I lift her chin with my finger and look into her eyes. "If you're upset I'll just need to take you home and make you feel better."
"That actually sounds really good." She laughed unsteadily.
"Later, if that's what you want."
"What is it that you want?" She poured more champagne into both our glasses.
"I want to be able to say that you're my girlfriend, maybe more in the future. I want to be able to know that we both want a future with each other. I want to be able to tell people what you do and have them know that you've chosen me, that you're mine. I want you at family stuff, Sunday dinners and birthdays. Ideally, I want you living with me because I can't see the point in you not being there, because when you're not, I'm not happy. I'm not saying that you're the only thing that makes me happy, Vanessa, that's too much responsibility for anyone, but if you don't want everything else, if you want casual or to slow things down so much we barely see each other, I don't think I could cope with that. I want to be the person who can always make you happy," I stop, seeing more tears fall. "And I'm not making you happy right now because you're crying. Shit, Van. What can I do? Tell me." I stand up and crouch down at the table in front of her.
"Stand up," she said. "People will think you're proposing." Then there was a laugh but I stayed crouched down.
"I... I... can you if you want. Shit, Van. I'd probably marry you tomorrow..." Then her arms were around my neck and she pulled me up to kiss me, a brief kiss that turned into something different and it was probably a good idea that Simone had tucked us away. It felt so good to feel her in my arms again, her warmth and soft skin. Only one thing would be better: getting her in my bed.
"Not yet," she said. "The marry bit. But the other stuff, the moving in, the Sunday dinners, your family – all of that. But I bet your family hates me now."
I held her face gently, using my thumbs to wipe her tears. "No. My family is generally sensible people who know that relationships aren't easy. Marie and my father are perfect for each other, but they argue and disagree a lot. My brothers and sisters think you must be mad for not getting away from me while you can though."
She laughed, fewer tears now and moved her forehead next to mine. "We should order food. Then we can eat and go home."
"Do you still want to move in?" I managed to tear myself away from her and moved back to my seat.
"Yes," she said, opening the menu. "I think I'm just going to order the specials. I don't think I can process the menu right now."
"When? When do you want to move in?" I kept the anxiety from my voice, sounding casual and relaxed.
"Let's, I don't know. Weekend? If you're sure? I was fucking horrible to you, Jackson. I don't get why you're so over it already."
A waiter arrived, we both ordered the specials to make him disappear quickly, if he interrupted us again I had decided to make him disappear for good. "I was mad at you, all last Friday and the weekend, and then Claire came around to tell me why, and I could've kicked myself and I got it. In all honesty, I think we needed it to happen because it has been quick and it's made us both think whether we want this rather than just going with it. We're going to have arguments, Van."
"I know," she said, her foot nudging my leg, wearing the shoes I'd picked out for her. "I'm in, Jackson. I'm all in."
