Then, as if she’s made up her mind, she nods and plants a gentle kiss on my lips.
“OK.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“That’s it? Just like that? No analyzing, no mentions of my credit score, no debate?”
She laughs. It’s music to my ears.
“No. Someone important to me taught me that sometimes I have to just quit analyzing and follow my heart. And my heart is telling me I’ll never find another man who even holds a candle to you. Blaze, I love you with all my heart and soul. Of course I’ll be your old lady.”
Then she stands and offers me her hand.
I take it and rise. Hand in hand, we walk out that door.
“You ready to get out of here?” I say.
“I am. Now, let’s get you home — come on, I got the Volvo parked around back.”
Epilogue
Tiffany
One month later
The door to my office closes behind me and I turn, slip my keys in the knob, and lock it. There’s a name plaque on the door — Tiffany Santos, Tax Assessor — and every time I look at it, which I’ve done many, many times over the last week that I’ve had my new job, I break out into the biggest, dumbest grin. That’s my name on that plaque. This is my office.
I take a minute to calm my silly smile before I turn and head toward the front lobby of the financial annex of Torreon’s City Hall. I wish my secretary, Leonard, a good night and step out into the parking lot. Then that grin returns.
It’s Friday afternoon, the sun is shining, and I’m closing out my first week on a job that excites and challenges me. The work I do matters; the financial determinations I make have a real impact on the lives of everyone in the city and help shape the city budget; I’m not just some loan assessor pushing financial products for a two-branch bank, I’m an official whose work helps shape the future of her home.
When I close my car door, I roll down my window, turn up the stereo and start singing along to the Alanis Morissette that’s blasting from my speakers. Except, I’m not a Jagged Little Pill. I’m proud, ecstatic, I’ve got a great man waiting for me at home, and I have a job I love so much that, the second I leave the parking lot at work, I’m already thinking about how good it will feel coming back Monday morning.
I sing the whole way home.
Though, in this case, home is his mother’s house.
The Volvo is in the driveway, covered in soapsuds and shining in the bright afternoon sun. Blaze is right beside it, shirtless, with a hose in one hand and a wash bucket at his feet. I stop my car at the end of the driveway for a moment and just watch him work. Watch how the water glistens on his chest and back, and I laugh at the extra exaggeration he puts into arching his back as he leans over the hood of the Volvo to scrub it clean. He knows I’m watching, and he’s putting on a show just for me.
“Work it for me,” I yell to him as I get out of my car and start toward him up the driveway.
Grinning, he sprays himself with water. And, as soon as I’m in range, he turns the spray on me.
In a split second, I’m shrieking and soaked.
“You bastard,” I yell as I charge toward him.
My daring charge ends when he wraps me in his soaking-wet and sudsy arms and gives me a kiss that makes me forget about being soaked, makes me forget about how excited I am to get back to work on Monday; all I can think about is him and how I could disappear into his arms forever.
“How was work?” He says.
“The best. I went over the property valuations for nearly a whole block downtown and started work on a way we can streamline our property tax collection processes. There was so much math, you wouldn’t believe it,” I say. And then I launch into an even longer explanation, going into minute detail because I can’t help myself — I love what I do, I love the impact I have and, as foreign as it sounds, I love myself.
Blaze listens to it all with a smile on his face, even though I know he doesn’t understand much of what I’m blathering about. Then again, I don’t expect him to; I’m just so excited to have someone to brag to. And excited that I feel confident enough that I can brag about myself and the work I do.
When I finish, he gives me another kiss. And another spritz with the hose. I’m a soaking, soapy mess.
“Looks like you better change out of those wet clothes,” he says.
“Are you trying to seduce me? Isn’t your mom home?”
He shakes his head. “The home care nurse came by and picked her up an hour ago. She’s got rehab and medical checkups planned and that’ll take at least another couple hours.”
“So, are you saying there’s a good chance I could experience heaven while laying on my back and staring up at that Gwen Stefani poster you insist on keeping over your bed?”
“It’s an important part of my high school years. It stays.”
He wraps me up again, and into another joyful, sublime kiss I sink. “I didn’t say I mind. I just wanted to know if that really was on offer. I don’t mind staring up at Gwen from time to time.”
There’s a rumble in his chest that makes my heart beat faster. Then a sigh that makes my heart sink.
“Can’t.
