People came. Workers went. Days turned into weeks. The weeks turned into months. Countless cups of hot tea and coffee and bottles of wine were consumed. My to-do lists grew, and then they shrunk. Elliott and I had only a few minor dustups since the original one about his family. We were both very busy. While we enjoyed our days together, we did not blur the lines between business and pleasure. I was proud of that. Proud of myself. I was learning a lot about myself and learning a lot about Elliott. I liked the people we were becoming.

It was a Friday. It seemed like the right time to hang the painting with its brand-new frame that I had bought so many months ago. Occasionally, I would bring in a bag with interesting things like the antique sterling silver salt cellars I had bought in a consignment store to introduce something vintage into the aesthetic. I liked the idea of having a sea of modern with one element from the past. But I’d been waiting to present him with the painting to see if all of my elements had come together as I imagined. They had. Next Friday would be the soft open. We were inviting a lot of our friends, so the restaurant could work out any kinks before the grand opening. I was lucky that Henry had agreed to come next week.

I had the workers hang the painting on the wall near the bathrooms. When I showed Elliott, he loved the painting and the placement.

“It’s wonderful, Bailey.” He looked at it proudly, even reverently. We smiled at each other and at the restaurant we were building together. I felt we were almost like proud parents.

“I think this calls for a little celebration. I have a cold bottle of champagne in the refrigerator.” Elliott disappeared, and within a few minutes he was back with a good bottle and two glasses. As he fiddled with the cork, I looked at him and then the painting. Nighttime was staking its claim to the city, which seemed so typical for us.

For a man of means, he had a hard time opening it. I found his ineptness endearing. He finally poured the champagne into our glasses.

“To us. To our little restaurant. To achieving our dreams.” We hadn’t quite achieved our dreams, not yet anyway, but as usual, I nitpick.

We toasted with champagne. It was the good stuff. However, it seemed like an incomplete moment. Like it needed something else. A kiss perhaps. But I had been the picture of restraint since New Year’s Eve with Elliott, and I was not going to let my guard down. Not yet. We both sat down and easily entered into our customary conversations.

As we chatted, we heard a loud noise in the back. Urgent footsteps came toward us. Then from the dark emerged a small-framed woman with short, jet-black hair dressed from head to toe in black. She carried a big red satchel. Elliott’s demeanor changed immediately. In fact, the whole vibe of the restaurant changed. Was it just my imagination, or did the temperature inside get about thirty degrees cooler all at once?