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I know Dante has a tendency to want to surprise me extravagantly. So far, he’s managed to hold himself back. For instance, I know he wanted to surprise me with the apartment we moved into together six months ago, but instead, we chose it together. I know he compromised, because instead of surprising me with keys, he gave me a folder of the listings he’d organized, and a schedule of all the showings we were supposed to go to together.
It was one of the sweetest things he’s done. And now, six months later, we’re happily settled into the huge apartment with our four-month-old daughter, Lilly.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave her, even for our anniversary. But Dante convinced me. And now, as he leads me out to the curb, I see the Chevelle parked and waiting for us.
“Do you mind if I drive it this once?” he asks innocently. “I’ve always wanted to.”
“I don’t see why not.” I change paths, circling around to the passenger’s side. It feels a little strange—I’ve never actually been a passenger in my car before. Still, Dante seems thrilled at the possibility of driving it. I’m not sure why he’s so excited, until he slides in next to me and holds out a strip of silk.
“What is this?” I raise an eyebrow at the mischievous look on his face. “We’re still in public—”
“Just put it on. I don’t want the surprise spoiled.” Dante gives me a look that he knows makes me melt—after a year together, he’s learned how to push all my buttons and then some—and I catch the last glimpse of his smile just as I reluctantly reach up and tie the strip of fabric around my eyes.
“Ordinarily, this would feel kinky.” I lean back, trying to decide how I feel about it. “But I’m not sure if I like being blindfolded while you drive my car through LA traffic.”
“I’ll keep you safe. I promised, remember?”
“I do,” I say softly. And I absolutely do remember. That night on the beach is burned into my memory, when Dante came and asked me to reconsider my terrified decision to run from him. I’d come so close to running all over again—and I’ve never been so glad of anything as my decision to stay.
The last year has been the happiest of my life. And I know he feels the same.
“Are we almost there?” I ask, a little while later, and Dante laughs.
“Almost.” The car slows, and I feel him maneuvering into a parking spot. A moment later, my door opens, and I feel his hand slip into mine. “Follow me.”
It’s tricky, following another person while blindfolded. But I trust Dante absolutely, and I follow his slow footsteps, all the way up three flights of stairs. I hear a key turn in a lock, and he leads me forward, through a room, and down a hall, until I hear a door open, and he directs me into another room.
“You can take it off now,” he says softly, and I reach behind my head, undoing the piece of silk.
It takes me a moment to fully grasp what I’m seeing.
We’re in my condo, and at first, I don’t understand why. Dante encouraged me to keep it even after we moved in together, paying off the mortgage and telling me that he knew how important it was to me. For six months, I haven’t been sure what to do with it. It feels frivolous to have it just standing empty, but every time I’ve thought of renting it out, I can’t help but rebel against the idea. I don’t like the thought of others living in my childhood home. So it’s simply sat for six months, except for the occasional visit, while I’ve felt guilty for having a house that serves no function.
But Dante has given it one.
I’m standing in the room that used to be my father’s, the one that I boxed up but couldn’t bear to do anything with. The floor has been refinished, now a gleaming hardwood, and gauzy white curtains hang at the window. There’s an easel at one side, with a stack of empty canvases, and a set of drawers filled with various brushes and paints and other tools. On the other side of the room is a long desk, with a stack of sketchbooks and pads, pencils and pens, and lighting set up next to and above it. On the wall facing the desk is an assortment of my flash and other art, all framed and arranged in a gallery formation.
Dante has turned it into an art studio.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, turning around in a circle until I’m finally facing him. “You really did all of this?”
Dante nods. “Do you like it?”
“Like it? I love it.” My eyes well up as I look around the room. “You really understood how much this place means to me. And you turned it into something even more wonderful.” I step forward, reaching up to press my palm to his cheek as I kiss him. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.” Dante nods at the desk. “There’s something else.”
“More?” I blink at him. “This is already so much—”
“Just look at it.”
I realize what he means, as I look. There’s a stack of papers front and center on the desk, and when I pick them up and start to leaf through them, I realize what I’m looking at. It’s a deed to a commercial building, and paperwork for what looks like a loan.
“Dante—”
“I know you want your own shop.” He steps forward, his hand on my waist, as he turns me to look at him fully. “I know you’ve always wanted that. And I also know how independent you are, and that you’d never let me just buy it outright for you.”
“But—” I look over the papers again. “Isn’t that what you did? I mean—this is a deed—”
