Page 129 of Love Me
Monique moans into the kiss.
It takes all of the strength in my body but I pull away, placing my forehead against hers.
“This wasn’t the surprise,” I admit. “Not entirely.”
I wave my head toward the back of my car at the same time I open the back of the SUV. Pulling down the back hatch, I display the picnic basket I hid there. I managed to fill it with sandwiches, fruit, an array of cheeses and crackers, and a bottle of champagne.
“When did you do all of this?” she asks as I lay out the red and white checkered picnic blanket over the back area of my car for us to sit.
“I brought some of the stuff with us. Then this morning when I went to pick up breakfast, I bought the rest.”
I lift her to sit before I take my place next to her.
“Champagne?” She holds up the bottle.
“I wanted the chance to celebrate with you before anyone else.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“Like hell you haven’t,” I retort. “You have eight artists with at least twenty paintings between all of them to display. Your gallery is less than two weeks away from opening and it’s going to be huge.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” she says with a smirk. “I still need a date for the opening.” She lifts an eyebrow.
I pull her hand between my hands. “I know you didn’t think there was any way in hell I would let anyone else be on your arm for your big night, did you?”
I lean in and steal another kiss.
“Oh.” I pull away from the kiss before I lose myself.
Monique groans. “You can’t keep kissing me and then stopping,” she complains.
“One more surprise, baby.”
Out of the bottom of the picnic basket, I pull out a box. “I hope you don’t mind too much, but I took the liberty of having some business cards made for you.”
“Really?” Her eyebrows lift in anticipation.
I nod. “You were having trouble coming up with a design, so I just drew something I thought you would like. Then when you revealed the name of the gallery this weekend, I called a nearby printshop to have them do a rush order. It’s just a mockup but I ordered a few hundred in case you liked them. If not, you can toss them. No worries.”
“I’m going to love them,” she says at the same time she claps her hands in anticipation. “You’re so good at this stuff. I didn’t want to ask but let me see,” she squeals.
Monique doesn’t even wait for me to hand her the box. She rips it from my hands and opens it to pull out one of the cards.
It’s a sleek black card with gold trim in the shape of falling leaves. At the center in block letters is the name “Stolen Voices Gallery.” Underneath the gallery’s name is the website, telephone number, and email address.
“I went with the leaf trim since fall is your favorite season.” She loves that time of year.
“It’s perfect,” she says in an almost whisper.
“You’re perfect.” It’s cheesy as fuck but it’s the only thing I can think of to say.
Yet, when she looks up at me there are tears in her eyes. In part because of gratitude. I can see that plainly. But there’s something else. That lingering doubt that I remember from last night while we were in the hospital. I hate that it’s returned to her eyes, threatening to overshadow this moment.
I don’t want it to come between us. Not when this moment is meant as a celebration. I quickly pull out my phone and do a quick check of her numbers to make sure she doesn’t need to eat.
When I see they’re fine, I toss my phone aside and take her face in between my hands. I kiss her senselessly. I kiss to push away any and all lingering doubt that I saw in her eyes.
I’ve known for years that this chemistry, this love between us, was enough to last a lifetime and beyond. Anything else is just bullshit.