It’s been a full year since Claire’s car accident, and I’ve spent every possible moment with her.

They say the honeymoon period in a relationship doesn’t last very long, but I’ve never understood that. Every day waking up next to Claire has felt like meeting her again for the first time. And even now, every time we’re close, I can’t keep my hands off her for long.

I make my way through the restaurant and listen to the soft music filling the rooms. As my employees pass me, busily tending to the evening’s work, I get the occasional smile and respectful nod.

Things have been going well for months now, and frankly, I have Claire to thank for that.

Unlearning old habits isn’t something that happens overnight.

I’ve been trying to quash my need to control every aspect of our relationship and her job, and that’s just the beginning. Self-improvement is addictive to me now, and Claire has been with me every step of the way.

Some habits die hard, and I don’t think that domineering edge will ever be gone from me entirely, but I’ve learned day by day to step back, delegate, and handle the issues that actually matter, rather than trying to juggle everything myself.

In fact, now that I’m spending less time trying to nitpick what my staff is doing, I’ve had a lot more time to network.

That means chatting up important diners, including some powerful local politicians who are quickly making Ocotillo their go-to destination for business dinners.

It also means connecting with other restaurants, especially those owned and operated by Vegas locals. I’ve arranged multiple events where we support each other in a collaborative dining environment for charity events and foreign delegates alike.

Ocotillo is rising to statewide prominence like never before.

Tonight, however, is a little more special. The whole restaurant is reserved for a private event, open only to the staff and their family.

I’ve spent the past half-hour touring the restaurant and getting to know each and every one of my staff members’ close relatives. I keep the wine flowing and the conversation happy, and it warms my heart to see my employees mingling and talking to each other while a skeleton crew in the kitchen—paid double for volunteering to work on a night like this—works hard to keep the magic going.

While chatting to my manager Nathan’s eccentric sister, the front door swings open again, and Taylor Hersch, the television host who featured Ocotillo in his show over a year ago, makes his way in.

It’s strange seeing him without all the makeup and fancy clothes they put him in for TV, but he’s been around a bit as a diner so I’m slowly getting used to the real Taylor. We exchange a quick wave, and I excuse myself from my conversation to hurry back to the kitchens.

“Hey, Jorge?” I call, sticking my head into the kitchen.

Chef Alonso is directing a few of the cooks, looking more relaxed than usual, a smile on his face. He and I have gotten to be fast friends over the months, especially since being able to back off and let him flourish the way he was meant to.

He turns his head and raises an eyebrow at me. “Something wrong?”

“On the contrary,” I say, “just wanted to let you know your boyfriend is here. I’m guessing he’ll be at his usual seat with a view to the kitchen. He likes dry reds, right?”

Jorge’s face splits into a big grin, and he hurries over to the kitchen window to give Taylor a wave while the big man takes his seat.

“Si,” he replies to me with a wink, “a chianti would go well with what I’ve got in mind for him.” To say the two of them hit it off since I got him another interview on Taylor’s show would be an understatement.

I put the wine order in, then make my way back out to the restaurant floor and weave through the diners to the table that really has my attention for the night.

Sitting by a window with a beautiful view of the new gardens out front, Claire and all four of our parents are chatting happily with one another, probably about a trip to Costa Rica we have planned for next month. That’s been the hottest topic of discussion lately, but I’m going to give them something new to get excited about tonight—assuming everything goes well, of course.

Claire is dressed in the most gorgeous blue and gold dress I’ve ever seen, shoulders bare and makeup perfect. It was a struggle to get her to agree not to work tonight, but I wasn’t the only one insisting—Jorge told her she’d be cleaning out the grease trap if she didn’t take the night off, which is incentive enough to get anyone to listen.

“There he is now,” my dad says as I approach.

Claire’s eyes light up at the sight of me. “Finished your rounds?”

“Almost,” I say, winking to Claire. “Just have this one table of five who won’t stay out of my way.” The group laughs at the joke, and I take Claire’s hand, giving it a gentle kiss. I add, “And a quick announcement to make.”

“Going to do the speech thing?” Claire asks.

“Definitely going to do the speech thing,” I reply.

I told Claire last night I’d probably get all sappy and make a toast during this event. Fortunately, she doesn't know the half of it.

I pick up a glass and tap it softly with a fork until the restaurant quiets down table by table, turning to look over at me as I stand in front of Claire’s table.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I say with a warm smile to everyone assembled, “I really can’t tell you how incredible it is to have you all gathered here tonight. What we’ve accomplished at Ocotillo is something that every single one of you should be proud of, because whether you’ve been here from the start or just got roped into this crazy scam,” I pause for brief laughter, “you’re the ones who make this place happen. Every chef working here, every server handing out drinks, and every manager going gray at the temples trying to juggle it all,” I add, making Nathan’s table laugh.

I stick a hand in my pocket, stroking my chin as the mood turns more somber. “All of us are here for a reason, and all of us have stuck around for a reason. For me, this all started out as a plan to make damn good food, plain and simple. But things don’t ever stay simple.”

“It’s no secret to any of you that Claire Madsen means the world to me,” I say, turning to Claire with a smile, reaching down and taking her hand in mine, slowly pulling her to her feet as her lips part in surprise. “But she’s more than the world to me, really.

“Claire, you’re the reason I get up every morning. You’re why I work so hard to keep this place running smoothly, and you’re the thought that brings a smile to my face every day I get to know you more, each day we learn from each other.” I have to pause, because I feel a lump in my throat that I swallow back before locking gazes with Claire, tears rimming both of our eyes. “You’re my best friend, Claire. And I want to keep building our future together, forever.”

My heart racing, I take out the ring box in my pocket, and as Claire’s hands go to her mouth, I get down on one knee, opening it up and presenting her with a blue diamond ring—our parents helped me pick it out and they think it’s beautiful; I hope Claire likes it too..

“Claire, will you marry me?” The words are barely out of my mouth when Claire falls on me, hugging me tight and staining my cheek with tears.

“Of course I will, Ben!” she says, nearly sobbing.

The gasps around the room turn into applause as I stand up, holding Claire in my arms and kissing her deeply. Through the applause, Claire’s mom’s cheering is louder than all, and our parents have the biggest smiles I’ve ever seen on their faces. No doubt they’re ecstatic about this, and I’m sure they’re relieved they no longer have to keep this proposal plan a secret.

I cup Claire’s face in my hands, smiling down at her as my love for her expands and fills my heart almost to the point of bursting, it feels like.

“I love you, Claire,” I whisper, just to her. “I’m going to love you every day for the rest of our lives.”

“Damn right you will,” she says, and we laugh as she hugs me so tight my back pops, and that laughter gets harder as we hold each other in a loving embrace.

This is how it’s going to be, from here on out. Each day brighter than the last.