Indy
FIVE YEARS LATER
I walk through the rain with a smile on my face, feet splashing in puddles. I turn the corner just as the rain starts to get heavier again, so I jog the last few steps that take me to the courtyard.
The courtyard looks almost the same as it did five years ago.
There are new lights hanging over the front door, but everything else looks the same.
The small restaurant in all its understated beauty.
Its walls, windows, frames, and doors have recently gotten a fresh coat of paint.
It’s the usual mix of pale gray, forest-green, dusty-pink, and of course the indigo door.
Messy, Nick says, and he’s wrong. For me, this place has always felt the opposite of messy.
It’s a bit eclectic, but mostly warm and inviting.
It should be, too. It’s Nick’s baby. Five years, and a lot of work, sweat, and tears have gone into this place.
It’s been a ride, and I couldn’t be prouder of everything he’s accomplished. Not even just proud. I’m impressed.
He’s got two Michelin stars, a waiting list a mile long, and Indigo is regularly featured in all those top twenty-thirty-fifty best restaurants lists.
Later, the restaurant will be full of friends and family with the tables pushed together in the middle with just enough room for everybody. Somehow, in these last five years, our circle has kept expanding. We have these dinners a few times a year when Nick comes out with the new menu.
Dylan and Adrian will come along with at least a few of Adrian’s siblings. Dia will be here. Bridget. Callum. My father if he’s in town. My mother.
It’s still far from smooth sailing with my parents. There’s still an underlying layer of hurt with us all that sometimes seeps through. We’re trying. Cautiously. But we’re trying. All of us.
This restaurant is like our second home. We both work here. Nick in the kitchen, me as a mix of an accountant/assistant/random guy who does all the jobs that need to be done. I love it. It wasn’t the plan, but then I just sort of fell into this role, and I wouldn’t change it. This place is ours.
I pull the door open and go inside. And then I stop mid-step. There are a lot of candles lit on every available surface, which isn’t the way we usually decorate this place for one of our dinners.
Nick’s in the kitchen—of course—hands moving calmly, head lowered, eyes aimed at the cutting board in front of him.
I stand, and I watch him.
It’s been a long time since he was the angry guy from our teenage years. Nick at thirty is relaxed, confident, and completely at ease in his own skin. There’s a small smile on his face.
My heart jumps in my chest like it always does when I’m near him.
He walks out of the kitchen and straight at me.
His strides determined, he doesn’t stop before he’s right in front of me.
His hand goes into my hair. His other hand settles on the small of my back.
His lips cover mine, and my pulse becomes audible in my ears.
“You’re late,” he whispers against my lips.
“No cabs with the rain,” I say. “So I walked.”
“I would’ve picked you up.”
“I know,” I say.
“I missed you.”
“Good,” I say.
He laughs softly.
I look around the room. “We should start setting up, right? The others will start arriving soon.”
“Not tonight,” he says.
I frown. “No? Did I mess up the days or something?”
“It’s a date night,” he says. “Just for you and me.”
He takes my hand and pulls me forward. The table has been set. I didn’t notice with my tunnel vision of him.
I walk to the table and slide my fingertips over the edge.
I smile. “Romantic.”
When I turn around, though, it feels like my breath suddenly gets stuck somewhere in my lungs.
It’s Nick. And instead of standing, he’s now down on one knee. My hands start to shake immediately, and my heart is hammering in my chest.
“Blue,” he says. “You’re the best part of my days. The best part of my life. And somehow, every day I fall for you more and more. I…” There’s a sheen in his eyes now. I fall on my knees next to him. He lets out a wet laugh. “Damnit,” he says. “I had a speech.”
My smile is so wide that it makes my cheeks ache.
“Are you asking me to marry you, Nicholas?” I ask.
He takes a deep breath and runs his tongue over his lips. Swallows. “Blue,” he says.
“Yes,” I blurt. “Absolutely, one hundred percent yes.”
He laughs through the tears running freely down his cheeks now. “You took much less convincing than I figured you would.”
I laugh, too, and bury my face in his neck. “I love you.”
He takes my hand and slides a ring on my finger. It’s black with a narrow stripe of emerald running through the middle.
“I want to be yours forever,” he says. “If you’ll have me.”
“Nicholas,” I whisper, laughing through tears. “I’ve been yours since we were nineteen.”
He kisses me.
After all those years.
After all the storms.
For the longest time I’d thought we’d missed our chance.
Turns out, we were just getting started.