NICK
SIXTY-EIGHT
“Are you really not going to tell me where you’re taking me?” Blue asks. There’s a teasing glint in his eyes. He’s sitting in the passenger seat of my car, long legs stretched out, seat pushed back as far as it goes.
I glance toward him, biting back a smile. “I told you it’s just a quick detour before we’re meeting everybody else.”
“But what’s with the secrecy? You could just tell me where we’re going.”
“I would have,” I say. “But then you kept asking, and now I think it’s funnier this way.”
He makes a face, but he fails to come off as disapproving as he probably plans to.
“Fine,” he says while rolling his eyes. “Don’t tell me. I don’t care anyway.”
I laugh, link our fingers, and squeeze his hand while I maneuver us through the early evening traffic.
“Where are we meeting with the others?” Blue asks.
“Some pub,” I say. “Callum picked the place.”
Blue looks down at his torn jeans and hoodie. “At least I’m not underdressed.”
Callum tends to gravitate toward a select few hole-in-the-wall places where all the patrons are the same few old people who have gotten used to the fact that they’re sipping their whiskeys in the presence of football royalty a long time ago, so they’re more likely to heckle him a bit instead of fawning and asking for autographs and selfies.
I park the car on the street and we both get out.
Blue looks around the lively downtown street and raises his brows at me.
I take his hand and pull him forward, around the corner to the bright purplish-blue door, tucked away in a tiny inner courtyard.
I pull out the key and unlock the door, holding it open for Blue.
He sends me a curious look and goes inside.
I know what he’s seeing. Just tired, bare walls, a row of dirty windows, and a chipped, concrete floor in a decidedly limited space.
Blue makes a slow circle, eyes moving over the space before us before he turns to face me.
“It’s nice,” he says, “but what is this place, exactly?”
I take another sweep of the room and then pull Blue to me. I wrap my arms around him from behind and lean my chin on his shoulder.
“Well,” I say. “I was thinking that this space here might make for a good restaurant.”
He turns his head and smiles at me. “Yeah?”
I nod and press a kiss against the side of his neck. “I gave up on that dream a while back. Bit by bit, it seemed to lose all its spark, and I just didn’t care anymore.”
“But now you want it?” Blue asks with a kind of gentle knowing in his tone.
“I want it so fucking bad,” I say and press another kiss on his neck. He groans and shivers and laughs about his own reaction.
“It’s a good space,” he says. “Kitchen at the end, there?” He nods toward the other side of the room.
I nod. “Open concept.”
“So you can see the magic happen,” he says. “How many guests?”
“Twenty-four at most. Two tables of two. One large table that’d host between eight and twelve diners and another for groups between four and eight.”
“Food?” he continues and presses his body closer, so we’re plastered together.
“Seasonal chef’s menu, local produce.”
He turns in my arms and sends me a beaming smile. “I like the sound of all of that.”
I hum. “I’d still be working for Callum and the other guys for a while. This place might bomb spectacularly and opening a restaurant is always a terrible idea.”
“Let’s do it anyway,” he says and presses a fierce kiss on my mouth.
“I already have a name,” I say.
“Oh, yeah?” He raises his brows.
“Indigo,” I say.
His smile turns from glowing to impossibly soft as he looks at me, and his throat moves as he swallows hard.
“It’s a good name,” he says.
“I know,” I say. “All my favorite things in the world are named Indigo.”
He blows out a shaky breath. “Christ, you’re sappy.”
I grin. “Want me to stop?”
“No. You should definitely kiss me, though.”
So I do.
We’re really late by the time we arrive to meet up with the others. The pub is busy, with most of the booths occupied and people milling around, drinks in hand, or playing darts at the two boards hung on the far wall of the pub.
I see Callum and the others gathered around a table in the corner. Dia spots us first and waves when we approach.
“Late again,” she says and tuts, but she’s grinning and doesn’t look like she cares that much.
I lean over and kiss her on the cheek. I’ve had years to get used to the idea that she’s technically my twin, but even after all this time, the idea just refuses to truly click.
She’s a friend. Like Callum is a friend.
Like Bridget is a friend. I don’t know if I’m sad that I’ve lost that possibility of having a sibling bond because of the choices other people made for me.
Angry, maybe. But then I’ve been angry for a long time.
Long enough to learn it won’t lead anywhere.
Anger only eats you up inside. It might make for good fuel for revenge, but I’m not after that.
Mostly I’m determined to live a good life with Blue.
Make up for my own mistakes. Make peace.
Love him.
Most of all, I’m determined to love him.
Blue and I take our seats, and I pull his chair closer. He laughs. Our friends snicker and tease.
It’s all good.
Messy on the surface.
But good underneath it all.
Blue easily falls into conversation with Dylan and Bridget, and I lean back in my chair and take them all in.
I can’t help but wonder if we’d all be here if our parents had made different choices back then. Maybe. It’s impossible to say. Most likely life would have played out differently, though. An alternative life. Not necessarily and technically a bad one. Just different.
But then, when I look at Blue, all I know is that every life without him in it would be a reality I wouldn’t want.
“Okay?” Blue asks. The side of his foot is pressed against mine underneath the table. He’s leaned toward me, voice low.
I nod. And smile. “Better than I ever imagined.”
I link our fingers and squeeze his hand.
He grins at me. That dazzling Blue-smile I’ve always loved back in place. No raised walls or guards anymore.
“Yeah?” he asks.
I nod. “I love you,” I say. The words come easily. Natural. Like breathing. “Forever.”
“Promise?” he asks.
“Promise.”