Page 131 of Neap & Spring

We’re ready.

Another breath. In and out.

I can do this.

The front door opens.

I turn toward the sound automatically, the way you do when you’re waiting for something without realizing you’re even waiting.

Vivienne walks in.

And everything stops.

The noise fades. The kitchen disappears. The eighty-five people and the investors and my family all blur into nothing.

She’s wearing the dress.

The black vintage dress from Paris. The one with the thin straps that cross at her back, fitted perfectly over her body and waist before flowing to just above her knees. The one she wore to our graduation ceremony with her hair pinned up and lipstick that matched the wine we drank after.

The one she wore to the bar that night. To my apartment. The one I watched fall to the floor of my bedroom while she looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

She’s wearing that dress.

Her hair is down tonight, falling in soft dark waves past her shoulders. Her eyes are dark, and her lips are red, and she looks like she stepped directly out of my memory and into my restaurant.

She stops just inside the door, one hand still on the handle, and takes in the dining room.

I watch her eyes move across the space, gliding over the tables with their white linens and simple candles. The windows overlooking the ocean. The flowers Frannie brought this morning, distributed across the tables in simple glass vases. She slowly soaks in the full house, every seat claimed, every table fully occupied. The energy in the room is alive and expectant.

Her eyes crinkle at the edges and wonder crosses her face, and I realize she’s seeing it the way it’s supposed to be seen. At this moment, she’s not a consultant calculating numbers and marketing angles. She is someone who helped build this and made it beautiful.

She presses her free hand to her chest, right over her heart, and I see her take a breath.

Before I know what I’m doing, I’m moving.

Through the kitchen door, past Roman, who says something I don’t hear, out into the dining room. People are looking at me — my family, the investors, strangers with cameras — but I don’t care.

I’m walking toward her, and she hasn’t seen me yet. She’s still absorbing the room, her eyes bright with emotion, that hand still pressed to her chest like she’s trying to hold all the feelings in.

Then she turns, and her eyes find mine.

The smile that breaks across her face is everything. It’s sunrise and coming home and every good thing I’ve ever wanted.

I close the distance between us in a few more strides, and when I reach her, I don’t think. I just pull her into me, one hand on her waist, the other coming up to cup her face.

“Hi,” I whisper. My voice comes out thick with emotion I’m not trying to hide.

“Hi.” She’s still smiling, her hands coming up to rest on my chest. “It’s perfect. Callum, it’s so perfect.”

“You look stunning.” The words come out quiet, just for her, even though I’m aware of all the eyes on us.

Her cheeks flush, the color spreading down her neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I brush my thumb across her cheekbone. “Absolutely stunning. You’re —” I stop, shaking my head because words aren’t enough. “You’re perfect.”

She leans into the touch, her eyes soft. “Thank you for letting me be part of this.”

“Thank you for making it possible.” My chest cracks open, everything I’ve been holding in threatening to spill out. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you. None of it.”