BEYOND THE YELLOW BRICK ROAD-CHAPTER 18-RECEPTION

JUSTIN’S POV

stone in love with you

You wound your way up the back stairwell to your room at The Rockford, bumping into a couple of resort employees feeling each other up as you turned a corner. The young man who had the willing woman against the beige, painted cinderblock wall, stopped moving his hands underneath her shirt when you walked by. You heard the girl whisper to him as you started up the last set of stairs,

“Hurry, our break’s almost over.”

“I wanna fuck you.”

“We don’t have time.”

You were beginning to believe that the entire world was in heat.

Your key clicked inside the keyhole as you opened the door to your room, surprised to see that the invisible housekeeping elves of The Rockford had already remade your bed and put clean towels in the bathroom, which was where you were headed, complimentary chocolate chipmunks already melting in your hand.

But you took a small detour first.

Brian always hid his weed inside the inner lining of his garment bag, and you rummaged for it, finding it at the very bottom lying inside a leather cuff. You’d pulled both out, not expecting all three more cuffs to follow, chained together like the paper chains you used to make in grade school. Your curiosity got the better of you, so you’d turned on the light in the closet, trying to discern what the other lump was in the bottom of the bag.

It was white.

It was rope.

……

Holy honeymoon.

……

You’d stuffed it back where you found it, minus the pot, which you took with you into the bathroom.

The gnome soap dispenser was relegated to the only working drawer in the bathroom before you lit up, not interested in watching him judge you or your habits. As you sat on the throne in the pine-scented porcelain outhouse, smoking and thinking, you began to ponder the actual volume of each of Brian’s ejaculations now that they were actually in your ass. It certainly wasn’t a new thing for your ass to feel like a slip-n-slide, but you could usually feel a light at the end of the tunnel...

Bad choice of words.

Seemed odd to you that Brian hadn’t complained about the state of his posterior since your recent forays into the unencumbered.

Not once.

Or even the second time…

Perhaps the third would be the charm.

************************
BRIAN’S POV

and we’ll never be lonely anymore

As Justin was walking out of The Tavern, Nate was approaching your table. “Snagged yourself quite a youngster there,” he said as he sat down across from you in the space Justin had occupied a minute before, “Tried to stop him and introduce myself, but he was walking too fast.”

You watched the door close behind Justin as he exited the restaurant, “I think he’s embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed? Why?”

You glanced over in Sarah’s direction, “He had a bit of a tiff with your wife today.”

“Who didn’t?” You laughed as Nate’s eyes perused the food on the table in front of him, “I send you a 2001 Chateau Rieussec Sauterness, and you order appetizers and cheesecake?” He seemed genuinely puzzled, probably because he’d dined with you far more times over the years than Justin had.

You motioned to the spread in front of you, defending yourself, “Wine goes with cheese.” Cheese sticks, cheese fries, stuffed mushrooms with cheese.

Cheesecake.

Christ, you’d lost your mind.

“So does a heart attack,” Nate laughed, and then he noticed, “Whoa. Is that a ring on your finger, Kinney, or do my eyes deceive me?”

“No deception,” you replied, straightening your left hand in front of you. “I did it.” You felt like you were trying to convince yourself.

“When? Where? Wearing what?” Nate inquired, his obsession with clothing only secondary to yours because he was always dreaming of athletic apparel.

“The other night. In bed. Naked.”

Nate looked over at Sarah and then back at you, “You lucky bastard. I had to dance with her mother. She smelled like dead gardenias.”

“My condolences.”

“It was worth it, though,” Nate continued, as if his mind was suddenly floating above his body, “And our honeymoon….hell, I’m surprised I lived through it.”

“If I’m not in the office Monday, you’ll know why.”

“Touché,” Nate sighed, his eyes glued to Sarah’s ass as she leaned over the bar. When he came back to reality, he stood up and said, “Come with me. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

You stood, but were hesitant to leave the table, “I don’t think Sarah’s interested in meeting me again.”

“Not Sarah. The bartender. Come on.”

************************
them good ol’ boys are drinkin’ whiskey and rye

Brown Athletics had gone public about five years ago, and unbeknownst to you that night, the news of Leo’s impending death and Nate’s impending takeover had actually made the stock soar in the last few days. Rarely would news of the inevitable demise of a prominent businessman cause a rally, but Nate Rockford’s name was synonymous with steady profit. You usually started your mornings checking out the Nasdaq because it was information that you needed in your line of work, but you’d been slightly pre-occupied the last few days—to say the least.

The bartender at The Tavern, the man who’d been responsible for picking out the wine you’d been drinking that evening (again, unbeknownst to you) was named Kenny O’Brien. Turned out that Nate had been dying to introduce the two of you just to see the look on your face. Nate was kooky like that sometimes.

Kenny O’Brien asked to see your business card because he wanted proof that that was really your name and then added, “So, you’re Irish huh?”

“Only in that alcoholic sort of way,” you replied.

“Well, as your bartender this evening, I’m honored to make your acquaintance.”

“It was good to meet you,” and then you turned around in response to a hand on your shoulder. You’d hoped it was Justin.

The perfume should’ve been a hint. It was Sarah.

And then Nate, “Brian, I think you’ve sort of met my wife?”

“Mr. Kinney, it’s so nice to officially meet you; Nate tells me so many wonderful things about you.” Nate patted you on the back and wandered away in the direction of the upper dining area.

You turned your attention back to Sarah, “Thanks. Nice to meet you, too.”

“I trust you’re enjoying your stay with us?”

You nodded, “Absolutely. It’s been wonderful. You have quite a…special…place here.”

“That we do,” she replied, squeezing your upper arm and tilting her head, “Come with me.” You followed her, mostly because there was a full bottle of Southern Comfort (seventy-six proof) dangling from her right hand. She climbed the two stairs to the upper dining area and led you to the piano, where Nate was cracking his knuckles. He played the first few bars of Billy Joel’s Piano Man, receiving several cheers from the instant (and obviously not unsuspecting) audience of restaurant patrons.

“Have a seat, Kinney,” he said, and you had no choice because Sarah was practically nudging you with her hip. She walked away and returned momentarily with four shot glasses, lining them up on the piano, right in front of Nate’s face.

“Pour, sweetheart,” he told her, and then he turned to you, “So, can you play?”

“What? The piano?”

“Yeah, the piano. Someone with fingers as long as yours—"

“No, I can’t. Not really musically inclined.”

“Can you sing?”

“No. God, no.”

Sarah chimed in, now that all four shot glasses were full, “Well, can you dance?”

“Absolutely. I can dance,” you affirmed, happy that you could do something, although the bump and grind at Babylon probably wasn’t their cup of tea.

“Well, one out of three’s not bad, although you’re not much help to me at the moment.” You looked at Nate to be sure he was joking around, and then he continued, “And that’s a rarity. You’re always such a help to me. I suppose it’s time I return the favor.”

“I think you have. You’re sponsoring our honeymoon.” You picked up one of the shot glasses and emptied it immediately after Nate had thrown his back.

“That I am,” he said, segueing into Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head. Sarah was refilling the glasses as he warmed up. “And since you can’t play and can’t sing, then I guess you’ll just have to watch and learn.” He was looking at Sarah when he said those words, and they shared a knowing-look between them.

“Where’s your partner, Mr. Kinney?” Sarah asked.

“Brian.”

“Brian, where’s your partner?” she repeated.

“He went to the restroom.” And anytime he wanted to come back would’ve been fine with you.

“Well, hopefully he’ll be back soon or we’ll have to send someone in there after him. Won’t we, Nate?”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

“You’re a good man, Nate Rockford,” she responded, and you hoped you’d still be able to flirt this enthusiastically when you were their age.

“That’s what they tell me. Drink up, Brian. I need to tell you about Leo.”

“What about Leo?”

“He’s dying. I’ll be surprised if he makes it a week.”

“Shit. I didn’t realize it’d gotten so bad.” You threw back another shot and let it burn your throat. It felt good. “What’s he going—"

“He wants me to run the company.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. I accepted his offer.”

Sarah gave Nate a congratulatory pat on the shoulder, her face replete with sympathy, “I’m going to miss him. He’s been good to Nate. God, it’s been so many years. Hard to believe.”

“I’m going to need your help more than ever, Brian,” Nate told you, smiling at people he knew in a neighboring booth. “I’m gonna have a lot on my plate.”

“Not a problem,” you replied, staring at Nate’s fingers as he played the piano, realizing all of a sudden how many talents this friend of yours had--and how much influence. “Anything you need.”

“I knew I’d feel better about this after I talked to you about it. As far as The Rockford’s account is concerned, you’ll probably be dealing with Sarah and not me anymore. I won’t have time.”

“Sure. Are you going to Chicago?”

“I’ll probably move the headquarters here in about a year. We have a strong manufacturing base in this state, and we could definitely use the business. And the more business I bring to New Hampshire—"

“The more business you bring to The Rockford.”

“You got it,” and then he turned on the microphone that was right in front of him, “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Nate Rockford, and as most of you know, I own this little hole in the wall. It’s been two weeks since I’ve been able to sit down at this piano, two weeks since I’ve spent an evening with my wife, so I thought we’d have a little fun tonight…if that’s okay with you.”

The Tavern erupted in applause that you felt like everyone had been holding since Nate sat down at the piano. He turned to you, a grin on his face, “They know me here.”

************************
JUSTIN’S POV

she’s a very kinky girl
the kind you don’t take home to mother

The main staircase at The Rockford was so majestic that you wanted to sketch it…from the bottom and from the top. That night, you stood at the top trying to decide which side you were going to walk down, fighting the overwhelming urge you had to slide down the banister. You decided to stick to the right side and took your time descending the stairs, your eyes focused on the door to The Tavern. Brian was behind that door (with your cheesecake), and you couldn’t wait to get back to him.

As you approached the door, you could hear music and lots of clapping, and you opened the door slowly, making sure that you had the right place. When you poked your head in, you could see straight back to your booth. It was empty, a lone piece of cheesecake waiting on your side of the table. You wondered if perhaps Brian had tired of waiting for you and had gone to find you, but you would’ve passed him—

And then you saw him. Smiling at you from the piano, waving at you to come over, raising a shot glass of what had to be whiskey. You shook your head at him and let the door close in front of you. This was not what you had in mind when you came down to fetch him.

The door opened seconds later, and you breathed a sigh of relief because he’d come out, but your relief was short lived because it wasn’t Brian.

It was the leg of a woman clad in black pants punctuated by a black, strappy heel. Her toenails were a deep red.

The leg belonged to Sarah.

You turned around and tried to walk to the stairs inconspicuously, but you were stopped by a hand on your shoulder, red nails again.

“Mr. Taylor?”

Fuck.

“What’s your hurry?”

“I was just looking for Brian,” you said, feeling like a teenager who’d just gotten caught sneaking out of the house.

“Well, how fortunate. He’s looking for you.”

“He is?”

“Won’t you join us?”

The expression on your face when you opened the door to find Brian had clearly read, What the fuck are you doing? and his had quite clearly read, Where the fuck have you been? You began to wonder if she was holding him hostage in there, if perhaps your former superhero/victim roles had been reversed, and you were the only one who could save him.

But you were kind of tired.

Sarah didn’t give you a chance to answer before she was touching you again, this time taking your hand and pulling you toward the door she’d propped open with her foot, “You know, I have a leash behind the bar. Don’t make me use it.”

“Excuse me?” It was less of a question and more of a plea.

“It’s brand new, too. I’m dying to break it in.”

The next thing you knew, you were inside the door and it was closing behind you to zealous applause from the entire restaurant and the unmistakable melody of New York, New York.

“There’s our little runaway. Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to Brian’s better half, an artist from New York City. Justin Taylor, better late than never.”

You heard yourself apologizing to Sarah for your behavior earlier while you wished she’d get her steering hand off of your back.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Don’t apologize.” The fact that you were getting closer and closer to Brian during this ordeal was the only thing brining you comfort at that moment. And then you found yourself standing beside the piano as Sarah finished her thought, “But you can make it up to me.”

“I can?”

“On the piano.”

************************
BRIAN’S POV

like sands through the hourglass

fifteen minutes earlier…

“So tell me, Brian,” Sarah began, leaning on the piano as she refilled your glasses, “How did my painting get broken again?”

If you were going to be dealing primarily with Sarah from now on, she might as well know who she was dealing with, “I fucked him a little too hard.” `

“Did you hear that, Nate? We’re not the only ones who’ve destroyed things while we were making love.” Her voice sounded reassuring, but for some reason you felt much less comfortable after that statement.

Nate wasn’t the least bit fazed; he played on as if she’d offered him a glass of water, “Well, you won’t be the first or the last, Brian.” You hoped he was referring to breaking the painting and not to fucking Justin too hard.

Because you were the first, and, god willing, you’d be the last.

And then there was all the in between.

……

Before your mother ever found Jesus, she found AM radio—specifically a wooden unit made by RCA about the size of a bread box with an orangey brown burlap material covering the single speaker. In your memories, your summer vacations have a soundtrack in the background featuring Cat Stevens, Jim Croce, Neil Diamond, Dionne Warwick, and on particularly melancholy days, Little Anthony and the Imperials. (You’d always suspected that your mother’s sudden interest in religion had less to do with Jesus and more to do with Dusty Springfield’s Son of a Preacher Man.)

She loved that radio more than she loved your father, and it became an escape for her after he left for work. As you played touch football in the backyard with boys from the neighborhood, you’d look over your shoulder to see her watching you from the window, wearing a faded sundress, the smoke from her cigarette swirling around her head. Your mother was never one for the sun.

She’d make lunch for you, your friends, and Claire at noon everyday, and you ate grilled cheese sandwiches while listening to Paul Harvey prattle on about ‘the rest of the story.’

When you finished eating and opened the refrigerator, she’d always say, “No more soda, Brian,” as she poured herself the first drink for the day, “You boys can drink water.”

You’d always bitch at her because your friends were there and you didn’t want to look like a pussy, “God, Mom. Whatever.”

“Go play outside. Your sister and I are going to watch Days of Our Lives.”

Claire was already perched on the sofa with a Tab in her hand, and she’d give you one of those looks as she opened it that made you want to beat the crap out of her as you and your friends headed back outside. The football game after lunch was always more violent than the one before.

That night as you sat beside Nate at the piano, you quietly thanked your mother for never turning off that radio, even when you’d complained about her shitty taste in music.

……

“Most of you know that I travel all week, never really knowing where I’m going to hang my hat for the evening,” Nate remarked as he began Ramblin’ Man by the Allman Brothers Band. “It’s always nice to be back home.”

You quickly realized that Nate’s audience was used to his routine, and they sang while he played, with him chiming in once in a while. Sarah was chiming in as well, the black, cordless mike in her hand blending in with her outfit, and it suddenly felt like Nate’s own personal ‘welcome home parade.’

“Ladies and gentlemen, the man to my left is a good friend of mine and one helluva of an ad man and entrepreneur by the name of ‘Brian Kinney’—not to be confused with our illustrious bartender over there—‘Kenny O’Brien.’” There was monstrous laughter followed by applause, which you figured was for the bartender and not you. “This is Brian’s first visit to The Rockford, so I hope you’ll join me in making him feel welcome.” There were whistles and cat calls. It felt a little like the backroom at Babylon for a second, but then you realized your pants were still on.

Nate continued, “We certainly don’t need an excuse to celebrate at The Rockford, but tonight, we have one.” Applause again, clearly these people would applaud anything. You didn’t think it was in very good taste to celebrate Nate’s new job before Leo was even in the ground, but there was no need for you to worry because you weren’t. “My friend here has just gotten himself hitched to his partner who my wife assures me is ‘awfully cute for being such a pissant.’”

Never had the urge to run like Forrest Gump been more urgent inside you, yet you remained strangely frozen in your seat.

Nate leaned toward you, “Where is he?”

“Don’t know,” you replied, hoping against hope that he’d fled the state. And then at that moment, as if on some sort of cosmic cue, one of the giant doors to The Tavern opened and you saw a curious blond head searching the restaurant for something familiar. “There he is,” you offered, not realizing that you’d live to regret those words a few minutes later. “I’ll go get him.”

“No, let me,” Sarah said, pushing you back down in your seat. She walked toward the now closing door with a little more enthusiasm than you felt was necessary.

You tried to hide the fear in your eyes when you told Nate, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but your wife is quite a piece of work.” (Perhaps the Southern Comfort was kicking in because you felt rather comfortable telling him that.)

“And yours isn’t?”

Well, he had you there.

And then Nate continued, playing Just the Way You Are as his wife walked away, “Ever since Sarah beat breast cancer, she pretty much lives each minute to the fullest. It takes some getting used to.” (Sarah stopped on her way to the door, turning around to smile at her husband for his musical selection.)

“I didn’t know she was a cancer survivor,” you admitted.

“She reminds me a lot of you sometimes,” he added, “Does what she wants, when she wants. Doesn’t give a damn what people think.”

You couldn’t really argue with that. “Good way to be.”

“Plus, she’s an artist, if you know what I mean,” he added. “When passion strikes her, you better get the hell out of the way, you know?”

Oh, you knew. Only too well.

************************
JUSTIN’S POV

now I stand here helplessly

There was, quite simply put, no fucking way you were getting on that piano.

It was certainly true (and you didn’t need Nate Rockford’s announcement to the entire establishment to make it so) that you’d been the heralded ‘King of Babylon’ many years ago, and furthermore, there was absolutely no reason for Brian to remind you of your go-go dancing days.

“Don’t you remember? You let some manager blow you so you could dance on the bar.”

Brian beamed at that memory, as though it made you more worthy of the ring now on your finger. It became immediately apparent to you as you felt his hands on your waist, your feet coming off the floor, and your ass making contact with the top of the piano that you did not know this man you married. But your new husband refused to be deterred from his mission, even as you heard your shoes hit the floor one at a time and then felt his warm hands wrapping around your socked feet.

“Lie down, Sunshine. You’re our siren for the evening.”

It didn’t matter to you that Nate preferred to have Michelle Pfeiffer writhing on top of his favorite instrument and, that in her absence, was perfectly willing to settle for you instead. (Pfeiffer’s Catwoman fame kept her at the top of Nate’s list, you’d learn years later.)

“Used to be me, but my lying-on-the-piano days are over,” Sarah added in a wistful voice that made you nostalgic for something you’d never even experienced. You didn’t know how she did that.

That night was one of maybe five times in your life that Brian had kissed you upside down, and definitely the first time he’d kissed you upside down, while you were lying on top of a piano, while a guy sat next to him announcing, “Welcome to your impromptu wedding reception, Mr. Taylor,” and then promptly began a raucous version of Just Like Romeo and Juliet by The Reflections. You hoped in vain that they were both just unbelievably trashed; their advancing years obviously severely impairing their abilities to hold their liquor.

Brian spoke as he kissed you, “You’re stoned, you little shit.”

You smiled, laying your hands on either side of his upside-down face, “I want my cheesecake.”

You sat up when Brian returned, warming to the crowd’s exuberant reaction when Brian fed you what had suddenly become your wedding-cheesecake, sticking your finger in it and decorating his nose, ignoring his reminder of, “I’ve already had mine.”

“Oh, you’re going to get yours again. Don’t worry.” You swallowed the next bite and added, “You knew about this, didn’t you?”

Brian shook his head vehemently, “I swear to god, I had no idea.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That’s immaterial,” he told you, handing you a shot glass full of liquid redemption to wash your dessert down with, “We’re here now. You look fucking hot up there, and I for one am going to enjoy it.”

“You really think I look hot?” you asked him, lying back down, this time on your stomach, your face resting in your hands. Someone in the audience came up and put fifty dollars in the over-sized glass next to your head which prompted Brian’s response,

“I cannot tell a lie.” He raised a shot glass to you, as if toasting your re-emerging debauchery, “You look good enough to eat.”

“Hey, someone just gave me fifty bucks.”

“We give all that money to charity,” Nate told you with a smile, when he saw you eyeing the cash.

Brian winked at you, “Don’t worry. I’ll give you a thousand if you’ll tell me where on your body you’re hiding my glasses.”

“Hell, no. Every relationship’s gotta have a little mystery,” you informed him.

“Amen to that,” Nate commented, his fingers dancing over the keys while the expression on his face looked a lot like the horny employees you’d seen in the stairwell earlier.

Maybe there was something in the water.

************************
in the cool of the evening when everything is gettin' kind of groovy

Nate took a request from the audience and played American Pie and even you knew the words to that, so you sang along, trying in vain to drown out Brian. And then to further embarrass you, Nate played Going to The Chapel in honor of your nuptials, only he screwed you up because he changed the words:

“Going to The Rockford,
and we’re gonna get married…”

And there wasn’t a soul in the bar who wasn’t singing along. You started your own one man kick line as they sang, watching your feet change places in the air.

You alternated between marveling at Nate who seemed to value brand loyalty and name recognition even more than Brian, and then basking in the genuine adoration of all of these strangers at your unplanned wedding reception. You’d never pictured your wedding reception like this, surprised that you were spending it lying on a piano with your knees bent and your arms over your head.

Nate’s voice gave out eventually, and he introduced Sarah, who much to your surprise had a beautiful voice and a presence when she sang that made everyone in that bar stare longingly at her. She ran her hand over the outline of your body when she sang The Look of Love, and it didn’t give you a rash like you feared. You rolled on your side and watched her where she stood beside the piano, smiling when you felt Brian’s hand on the back of your head as he stood on the opposite side of the piano. You rolled back on your back so you could see him.

“Having a good time?” he asked you, and you had to admit that much to your surprise, you were.

“Yeah.” You ran your hand down the front of his shirt, “I like this song. It’s very…provocative.”

He leaned down to kiss you, stopping first to whisper in your ear, “Makes me want to fuck you senseless.” He rested his hand on your stomach and you held it, staring up at him, reveling at how unbelievably handsome he was.

Nate played on, politely ignoring the public display of affection that was going on right in front of him. You saw Brian catch his eye and knew that he was letting Nate know that your reception needed to come to an end or he was going to have to fuck you right there on the piano. (You sleep with a man for over a decade and you just know these things.)

Lover’s intuition.

As Sarah’s last song ended, Nate began to wrap up the evening, “Well, folks, I want to thank you for being such wonderful guests at our spontaneous celebration tonight, and I suspect due to the rather intimate nature of Brian and Justin’s ‘ceremony’ that they’ve yet to have their first dance together as…” He paused for a moment as if searching for the right words, ”King and Queen?”

Everyone laughed.

”Well, am I right?”

You looked at Brian because at that moment you couldn’t remember much besides that evening and watched him tell Nate, “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Well then, please allow me. I’d be honored…we all would.”

Kenny was pushing tables out of the way in front of the piano, and Sarah was helping him when Brian helped you sit up and get off the piano. You walked with him to the center of the floor, and when he stopped, you asked him, “Are you sure you didn’t plan this?”

Brian smiled and kind of laughed, “Justin, I didn’t even know he played the piano. I swear.”

You were about to say something else when Nate started playing again and announcing, “Somehow I think this song is appropriate, a little Ben E. King.” He nodded to Sarah that it was all hers, and Brian smiled down at you as he held you in his arms.

“Get your hand off my ass, Brian,” you whispered into his neck.

He squeezed you a little tighter and replied, “No fucking way.”

You thought that all you wanted to do after dinner was fuck, but this was nice, being in the arms of the man you loved and married. And although Sarah was singing and you were sure she sounded incredible and the crowd had quieted down considerably, you could only hear Brian’s voice singing soft and low in your ear,

“when the night has come
and the land is dark,
and the moon is the only light we'll see.

no, I won't be afraid,
oh, I won't be afraid,
just as long as you stand,
stand by me.”

************************
NATE ROCKFORD’S POV

our love’s gonna be written down in history

11:17 p.m.

Your audience of mostly regulars seemed to almost tiptoe out of the restaurant while Brian danced with Justin, many of them stopping to thank you for a wonderful meal, a delightful evening. Sarah waved good night to Kenny as he gathered his coat and left to go home. You’d played Stand By Me a second time, sans Sarah’s vocals, and she sat beside you at the piano, leaning on your shoulder and watching the scene in front of her.

“They’re so in love; it’s sweet,” she whispered as you played, her hand eventually wandering to your knee. (Fortunately, you’d taken your Viagra right before you played the last song.)

“I know. I wanted to dance with you tonight, but I didn’t have a spare piano player,” you told her. “I hated to miss Valentine’s Day with you.”

“Oh god, we were insanely busy. I was dead on my feet that night.”

“I don’t need you on your feet,” you teased her, and she reminded you that the same went for you, her hand roaming up your thigh. You knew Sarah was in an amorous mood even before she’d started singing that night because she’d been shoe shopping. It was always a dead giveaway. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“You’re a smart man; you can figure it out.”

You finished the song, quietly closing the lid on the piano, and you and Sarah started walking around The Tavern extinguishing candles and picking up stray glasses left behind by people reluctant to give up their liquor. And then the two of you leaned against the bar, waiting for the newlyweds to stop making out.

And eventually they did, Brian waving good night to you as he held the door for Justin, “Sarah, Nate, thanks. That was really nice of you.”

“Yes, thank you,” Justin added, “I had a really good time.”

“Our pleasure,” you told them as you watched Justin pull Brian through the door by the hand.

You’d turned off everything but the emergency lights in The Tavern and were locking the main door when you felt Sarah loop a handle of some sort over your fingers. You looked down, puzzled until you realized that it was a black gift bag with purple tissue paper inside it. When she spoke, her voice was soft and tired. It’d been a long week.

“You remember our honeymoon?” she asked you as the two of you started up the stairs to the third floor, which was all yours.

“Remember it? I’m still sore.” She laughed. “Is this a present for me?” you asked her, enjoying the coy expression on her face.

“Oh, it’s definitely for you.”

You lifted the bag up a little, “Can I see what it is?”

“Nope. Maybe after we get upstairs.”

A spark of excitement ignited inside you, spun in a circle, and burned itself out.

……

“I like them, Nate. Brian’s a great guy.”

“He’s smart as hell, too.”

“He better be,” she said, stopping at the top of the stairs, “We’re going to be unbelievably busy now.”

“You’re okay with me doing this right? Even if I’m not around as much for a few months?”

“We’ll figure it out,” she said, squeezing your hand. “We always do.”

……

You opened the door to your suite and followed Sarah into your bedroom, where a fire was roaring in the fireplace and your bed had been turned down. Living at The Rockford definitely had its advantages, made every night feel like your honeymoon.

Well, that—and what was in the bag.



Lyrics taken from The Stylistics’ Stone in Love with You, The Dixie Cup’s Going to the Chapel, Don McLean’s American Pie, Rick James’s Superfreak, the opening monologue of Days of Our Lives, the Atlantic Rhythm Section’s So Into You twice, and The Reflection’s Just Like Romeo and Juliet.