“You guys…” I stammer for words.
“And look. There are more,” Slowski says as he gestures to both sides of the fireplace. “Mary Ann got large black-and-white prints of your house. Before, during, and after.”
Slowly, I walk and take in everything. The photos are astonishingly gorgeous, and it means so much to have these visuals. Each photo is special. My friends working on the roof and installing windows, laboriously painting the outside and inside of this house. Danny staining the porch, Paul measuring the stairs.
Oh, the stairs! I almost forgot to look, and I whip around to take in the renovation.
“Paul.” I look to him.
“I know. The iron railing is perfect,” he says with a wink.
I smile. “It is. Even more so than I envisioned.”
“No. Take a second and look to see how perfect it really is.” Danny pivots me back to the stairs until I notice something else.
I almost laugh when I see it. “It’s missing a banister,” I whisper. “Ourbanister.”
“I think this is Paul giving us his blessing,” he whispers back. “Now, look up a bit more,” he coaxes.
What I see makes me catch my breath. What hangs on the large wall beside the stairs is the framed parchment from the night he painted my body, the night he lifted me from such intense self-doubt and such melancholy. As I lean against his chest and take a minute to absorb what this art represents, how it shows how far I’ve come, how I am not the same person who I was just months ago, relief takes over, almost crushes me so wonderfully.
“I’m so grateful for that night. And for you.” Then, I do laugh a bit. “God, that’s a lot of wall. I’ll have to find something else to hang there.”
“I’ll help you,” he promises.
“Show her the rest.” My surrogate father-slash-contractor breaks up the moment. I know he doesn’t want me to get all huggy and emotional. Because then he might.
The tour continues.
“Wait, what?” I nearly shout. “The dining room table isn’t squashed against the stairs anymore. There’s so much room now.”
Danny steps beside me and puts his arm around my waist. “Yep. Once the old furniture was gone and your new stuff was moved in, we realized that we could make a cozy space around the fireplace and make more room for an actual dining spot.”
“Like, I could maybe fit in another table?”
“Okay, let’s not get carried away,” Paul says rather sternly. “You have enough people to feed every Sunday. There’s got to be a limit.”
I do love how he watches out for me.
“Fine.” And now, I cannot wait any longer. “The kitchen? Please?”
“It’s so beyond sexy,” Danny promises. “I gotcha.”
He takes my hand and walks me ahead, and I notice that Paul waves a hand to Matteo and Slow, silently telling them to let us go in alone.
It’s everything I wanted. More really. I could never have pictured exactly how it would turn out based on what I asked for, and I’m totally blown away. The varying shades of green on the walls and the cabinets, the perfect butcher block counters and island, the stupendous greenhouse window? Even more spectacular than I had hoped for. I spend a decent amount of time drooling over my vintage-looking appliances, and I already cannot wait to fire up the gas burners on the stove.
My knees nearly buckle, and I grab on to Danny. “There has never been a more beautiful kitchen.” I let go only because I want to run my hands over every tile, every cabinet, every countertop. To touch the floating wood shelves and feel the texture of the backsplash. “I’m going to cook all the things for all of you.”
“I still have to pick up the tin tiles for the ceiling, and we have to choose an overhead light, but it’s good, right? You like it?”
It’s cute how he suddenly seems to be just a touch nervous, but I reassure him, “I love every perfect inch. It’s even sexier than you told me.”
We officially started our romance in this kitchen, and I see no reason not to continue the next stage in this renovated version.
It’s about two seconds before I press myself against him. “Lift me up onto the island like you did that first night?”
Danny groans, yet he does what I asked, and his lips graze over mine. “We have an audience outside.”
“Make them go away,” I beg. “I love them all, but make them go away.”
He flounders for a moment and then yells out, “She loves the kitchen. It’s fabulous! So, you know, thank you for coming, and to all a good night!”
We hear laughter and footsteps and the clap of the front door shutting.
I undo his pants. “That sounded a little Santa Claus-ish at the end, but well done.”
“Well then, merry fucking Christmas to us both.”
