Page 162 of Shelter
He conceded with a nod. “That’s probably wise. Elise usually has strong opinions on such things.” Then his smile turned impish. “So, when are you going to ask her?”
In the months we’d been together, Elise had talked often about her boss, the lovable — but nosey — mentor she looked up to like an uncle. He’d given me his word Elise would know nothing about the ring, but I didn’t need to share any other details.
“Soon,” I said decisively. “What do I owe you?”
* * *
September ninth.My birthday. The night had started with ArtWalk, one of Elise’s favorite events. We’d gone with Alberta and Ross and Louis and Bree, who were visiting for the weekend. As far as Elise knew, they were in town to see family and happened to be free tonight, but both of our best friends were in on my plans.
We’d woven our way from Gallery 333 all the way to Acadiana Center for the Arts, and I’d taken a glass of wine whenever it was offered, letting the stuff settle the nerves jumping in my stomach.
Bree, who was now five-months pregnant, started making noise about her feet hurting, right on cue.
“Oh, is it time to call it a night?” Elise asked, giving my best friend’s wife a concerned frown. We’d visited Bree and Louis in Austin over the summer, and Elise and Bree had struck up a warm friendship.
Playing her part, Bree wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “I think I just need to sit down and have something cold to drink,” she said, dabbing her brow with the inside of her wrist. I had to rein in a smile because even though the late summer night was hot and humid, the air conditioning in the ACA was almost chilly.
“How about we go to Pamplona and get a bite to eat?” Ross chimed in. The tapas restaurant on Jefferson Street had been the site of our first official date. Yeah, I’d done things a little backward. How many guys were already balls-to-the-wall in love on the first date?
“Oh, my God. I love their crab croquettes,” Elise swooned. Then she grimaced. “But it’s ArtWalk. Won’t they be packed?”
Louis reached for his phone. “The manager used to work at the bakery. I’ll see if he can get us a table.” With a wave, Louis moved to the lobby of the ACA. This part hadn’t exactly been scripted, but I appreciated his improv. Elise didn’t need to know yet that I’d made the reservations more than two weeks ago.
She’d figure something was up when we arrived and Ava and Flora just happened to be there, but I wouldn’t give her very long to speculate. Besides, Ava and Flora were now roommates. After her disappearing act back in May, Ava had stayed with Flora for three weeks until a spot had become available at the treatment center she’d found in Florida. She’d spent sixty days there, and upon her return, she’d officially moved into Flora’s spare room. And Flora had put her to work in the kitchen at the cafe.
Ava had been clean and sober for four months now.
I was grateful — unbelievably grateful — for Flora’s commitment to my sister. And I was grateful for every day of Ava’s sobriety. I didn’t take it for granted, but I also didn’t obsess about her losing it either. Those days were over.
Louis stepped back into the gallery wearing a smug grin. “I pulled some strings and got us a table,” he said, preening. “It’ll be ready when we get there.”
I turned to Elise and offered her my hand. She took it, wearing a smile that was just for me. She looked so beautiful. Splashed with scarlet poppies, her sleeveless white dress skimmed her figure. The dress’s open back had ensnared me the moment I saw it. She’d been standing on the landing of her apartment stairs, locking her door when I’d gone to pick her up, and the sight of her had stopped me in my tracks.
For the last few hours, I’d caught myself craning my neck to watch her as she floated from frame to frame at each of the galleries we’d visited. As far as I was concerned, she was the work of art. The only one I cared to stare at.
Louis led our group out to Vermilion Street, telling a story about the last Catalan meal he and Bree had shared in Barcelona two years ago. How they’d smoked a bowl in their hotel room before strolling down La Rambla to the little restaurant where they’d eaten an entire pan of paella and fourxuixos,a pastry he described as being “like a deep-fried Twinkie filled with custard.”
As we stood at the crosswalk on Jefferson Street, Elise’s laughter tickled my ear, and I turned to gaze at her. She’d put her hair up — no doubt to tease me with her exposed back. Two thin side braids swept the hair back from her face, and the rest was gathered into alluring twists I longed to toy with. But a few seductive tendrils framed her face with artful disarray, and as we waited to cross the street, the evening breeze sent one fluttering over her lips.
Spellbound, I caught the rogue lock with the tip my pinkie and traced it back, hooking it over the silken shell of her ear. Her eyes locked with mine, and the love I saw in them — as it always did — struck me like a gong.
I was so damn lucky to have her.
The last few months had been a siege of happiness. I’d never known anything like it. I’d never known life could be so good. So easy. I’d given her the key to my house a few weeks after we’d claimed each other, and the first time I came home from work to find her sketching on my living room couch, I thought my heart would rupture in my chest it was so full.
Getting my Lafayette office off the ground had busted my ass, and I’d had to put in some pretty late nights. Whether we stayed at my place or hers, if I got home after she was already in bed, she’d stir when I’d slip in with her, and she’d ask me about my day. And every time, she’d guide my head down to her chest, stroke her fingers through my hair, and massage the base of my skull. She’d listen to me rehash the day’s ups and downs until my muscles and bones turned to jelly. Some nights, I’d take advantage of the lucky proximity of my mouth to her breasts, start worshipping her then and there, work my way down. And all the way back up again. Until the only thought in my mind was how much I loved this woman. The other nights, I’d just hold her, tucked tight against me, drifting off to sleep thinking the exact same thing.
She’d completely reordered my world.
For years, I’d taken lunch at my desk or with a client. Now, Bette knew my lunch hours belonged to Elise. We’d meet at Hub City Diner near my office or at Sakura by hers, or we’d pack sandwiches and take them to Moncus Park near the jewelry store.
And with Elise, for the first time in my life, I had a reason to make plans. The future belonged to us and no one else. She wanted to see Italy. We could go for our honeymoon. I pictured her standing on the Amalfi coast wearing a beach sarong and not much more. We’d spend three weeks touring from Milan to Palermo. And as soon as we got home, I’d buy her a dog. Elise had always wanted a dog. I couldn’t stop imagining her lounging by the pool with a King Charles Spaniel at her feet.
I’d make it happen. I’d give her everything she wanted.
I only hoped she’d say yes.
As we closed in on the restaurant, my heart bounced off the walls in my chest. My plan had been to wait until we were all seated — with our glasses filled — and then make a speech. Drop to one knee.
