Page 37 of The Ruin
“But maybe you guys could go in disguise?” she’d suggested, only half kidding.
The more I considered it, though, the more I found myself leaning toward a nice, quiet night in our own living room—low-key and relaxed, with no interruptions. Plus, if our “first date” went well, and we were feeling frolicsome, the master bedroom would be steps away.
So here I am now, going over the top arranging the takeout food I ordered from the amazing Italian deli a few blocks away. There’s a comedy special on Netflix tonight that Luka and I had talked about watching, so the TV is all queued up and the food’s spread out on the coffee table. We’ve got a stack of assorted sub sandwiches, a crisp Caesar salad freshly tossed in a crystal bowl (that I’m guessing is probably meant to be used for punch, but fancy times call for fancy measures), and thick-cut French fries under a metal dish cover to keep them warm. I even put the ketchup in a dish with a sprig of parsley, which I hope Luka finds as amusing as I do.
Emzee stopped by earlier to pick up Mr. Kibbles so that we’d have the whole penthouse to ourselves, but I can’t help wishing the dog were here right now to wag his tail and beg for bits of salami. Curling up on the couch with Luka and Kibby has quickly become my favorite evening activity. I’m guessing the dog would happily knock over the taper candles on his way to attack the sandwiches, though, so it’s probably for the best that he’s at a sitter’s.
What else? Apartment tidy, cheesecake in the fridge, comfy throw blanket over the back of the couch in case we want to snuggle. The candles are set up and waiting to be lit, the wine is ready to be uncorked, the Pandora station is set to smooth jazz. Everything looks just right.
Suddenly, it hits me: looking around our place, I realize how happy I am to be here. Vegas was spontaneous and fun, but when I came home from the airport with Luka, it was the first time in forever that I could remember walking in the door and feeling like I truly belonged in this space.
Satisfied that date night is locked and loaded, I go into the bedroom to change. My dress is simple but has a bohemian vibe, with straps that tie into little bows over my shoulders and a long, swishy skirt. It’s as comfortable as a nightgown, and Luka appreciates how transparent the sheer cotton is. I put my hair into a loose braid and slip on some gold hoop earrings, leaving my feet bare. God, this is so much better than a fussy night out wearing heels and a mini-dress. When I check my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I could swear I’m almost glowing.
Luka still won’t be home for another hour or two, so I flop down on the couch and start scrolling through my Insta feed. Suddenly, my phone rings in my hand. It’s my husband.
“Hey, what’s up?” I say, hoping that he’s not calling to say he’ll be working late again.
“Be ready for me down in the lobby in fifteen minutes. And dress warm.”
I’m sitting straight up now. “What? Why?”
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, Brooklyn,” he teases. “See you soon.”
He hangs up and I stare at my phone, wondering what he’s up to. Letting out a giddy little laugh, I put the food in the fridge and run to my room to change into jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, even though it’s still plenty warm out. Since I have no idea what exactly he’s planned, I borrow one of his hoodies to bring with me just in case we end up in an igloo or something.
When I get downstairs, my husband is waiting in the lobby with a paper and twine-wrapped bouquet of huge pink peonies, and a sexy smirk that I want to kiss right off his face.
“I love peonies!” I exclaim. “You remembered.”
“How could I possibly forget,” he says, “when you made such a big deal about having them all over the place for the wedding?”
My cheeks are warm, and excitement pumps through me as I embrace him, keeping the kiss PG for the sake of the doorman.
“Ready?” Luka asks, and when I nod he takes my hand and leads me to the garage.
So far, he hasn’t dropped a single hint about where we’re going, and the suspense is killing me. I look at him expectantly, but he doesn’t give in.
“C’mon, spill it. Where are you taking me?”
He holds the car door for me. “I told you. It’s a secret.”
I try to con him into telling me while he drives, but he’s adorably resolute in keeping it to himself. The section of the city we go through looks familiar, and I get very curious as we pull into the United Center. I’ve never been inside, but I know that the Bulls play here, and tons of concerts and special events are held in the venue as well. But there are hardly any cars in the lot, and no names on the big signs outside. I’m at a complete loss over what he’s up to.
“Are we…seeing a concert?” I ask.
“Nope.”
“Comedy show?”
“Not even close.”
Parking, he unbuckles his seatbelt to turn and look at me, his eyes lit up with amusement. “Feeling athletic today?”
I tap my chin, like I’m thinking hard. “Well, I was loafing on the couch staring at my phone when you called, and I haven’t been to my yoga class in a few days. So…”
He draws the end of my braid over my shoulder and fiddles with it. “I’ll go easy on you. Don’t worry.” Then he comes around and opens the door for me. I eye him suspiciously.
“Just what in the world do you have planned in there? Is this a boxing match?”
