“West, I… what did you do?”
She sounds impressed, which was the whole point of this. To show her there’s still hope because there’s still love.
“We hadn’t been on a date in a while, so I…”
“You… shut down a restaurant for me?”
I shrug, because the effort that went into tonight was small compared to what I’d do for her and compared to what she’s worth to me.
“It’s a bakery, actually, but… yeah. I did.”
She takes a deep breath, and I watch her scan the room—the lit candles, the dozens of roses in crystal vases placed around the entire perimeter. Then, she hears it.
I know the moment she recognizes the song because there’s a big-ass grin on her face that makes me want to melt right at her damn feet.
“No way you remembered this,” she says softly.
I step closer, resisting the urge to kiss her before answering, “Senior year.” I pause, pushing a strand of hair away from her cheek. “The bus ride to the championship game.”
Her face reddens, and I don’t take it lightly that, even after so many years together, I can still make this woman blush.
“Ok, so I stand corrected,” she says breathily.
I move to stand beside her, so I’m not blocking her view. “Anything else feel familiar?”
Her eyes narrow as she looks again, but then they soften. “The roses. Too many to count,” she adds with a quiet laugh. “Just like that night at the hotel.”
The story connected to that particular memory didn’t start out as sweet as her tone suggests. The roses were the result of me being a major fuck-up, and her being incredibly hard to convince I was worthy of her forgiveness.
But as her head settles against my shoulder, there’s no doubt it was all worth it.
I nod, answering her question as my arm slips around her waist. “Good. Anything else?”
When I glance down, her brow furrows, which means I’ve stumped her this time.
“Okay, that one was a trick question,” I say with a laugh. “This is the bakery. The one I—”
“The one you drove all over the city looking for because of my allergy,” she says, kissing my chin. “You almost missed the team bus, didn’t you?”
I nod. “Yep. And Coach wanted to kick my ass that morning.”
“Yeah, he wasnothappy,” she says, a laugh puffing from her lips. But then she peers up at me again. “I never told you this, but… I think that was when I knew.”
“Knew what?”
She shrugs and looks away, focusing on the flowers bathed in the glow of candlelight. “That’s when I knew you were more than just some jock with his nose in a playbook, more than just some…fuckboy.”
I laugh when she does, but she isn’t wrong. I lived up to every bit of that shit back in the day.
“I’m joking—kind of—but what I mean is… that’s when I knew you were real. That’s when I knew yourfeelingswere real.”
The funny thing is, I knew my feelings for her were real way sooner than she’d ever guess, because I was an asshole to her for longer than I care to admit. But my wife is all heart, so it doesn’t surprise me that such a small gesture is what let her know I was—and am—completely in this.
Head first.
All the way.
When I tilt her chin with my finger, my lips are on hers the next second. But then I remember we’re on somewhat of a tight schedule.
