I was forced into banking appointments this morning (Neamhchiontach. They need your signature, not mine.) and in between offices Caleb looks at me and asks me if I actually believe everything Batman tells me. I laugh nervously, because I do. He's fairly honest with me, after all.
No, of course not.
Because it would be really out of left field if I asked you to marry me now. You're already married twice over. He laughs nervously too. Unless I was going to third-wheel myself which would be ludicrous.
Yes, it would.
He glances and me and his jig is up. It sure would.
I'm not laughing now. I really hope that's not what you're doing and I hope that if you have anything you need to share with me that you wouldn't trick me in order to tell me.
I'm an open book.
I pick up my Dior bag and put it on my lap. This is enough of a Christmas present anyway.
I don't see many of these around. It suits you.
Everyone carries Louis Vuitton.
Would you like one of those?
No, I wouldn't. I don't like them.
Our next banker comes in and we're off to the races again. This is year end contributions ahead of tax season. Contribute now, write it off later. Well, not write it off, just defer the taxes until later when I'm in a lower tax bracket or something. Caleb had better live forever or I'm not going to be able to do my own finances pretty soon. It's suddenly more complicated than ever.
The next office is also empty and so we sit down again, still weirdly nervous with each other. I dig through the bag. The lining is slightly too big and I lose my lip gloss in the folds. First world problems, yes, I know.
How is Lochlan dealing with things?
What things?
Your visits to me, for starters.
For starters- (I glare at him) there was one visit and he's...well, he's fine.
Oh. That's unusual.
He's coping. He's a bit defeated, as it were. He doesn't know what to do with it so he's been very patient.
Caleb nods and the door opens and I sign more things, surprising even Caleb when I ask for my forms for tax purposes on the spot instead of waiting until February to receive them in the mail.
Are we done? We step outside. A group of women on their way to lunch give Caleb the once-over. Then they look at me with green-tinged open disregard and finally they settle on the handbag. They all carry fake Vuittons. Or maybe they're real. I don't care. He smiles at them and they giggle and rush off. I frown at their retreating gaggle and ask again if we're finished.
For now, though I was really hoping I could parlay our location into a lunch date if you don't have immediate commitments.
I do actually. I have a lunch date already planned.
He waits for more information but I don't give it to him except to ask if we can head home so that I'm not late. We don't say much on the drive, and once we're home I take my paperwork and my bag and kiss his cheek before running inside, and upstairs to change into warmer clothes. Jeans and a flannel shirt and a sweater and my docs and I run out back and down the steps to the beach and Lochlan is just smoothing out the big woven picnic blanket on the sand, anchoring it on all four corners with smooth round rocks. He turns just as I approach him and smiles really huge when he sees me.
I wasn't sure if you'd make it back in time.
Wouldn't miss it for the world.
