Epilogue

“Are you leaving to pick up the cakes?” Karen asks, stopping James as he’s leaving the office. “If you’re heading down to Matthew’s, can you put in an order for two hundred apple turnovers? We need it for the youth center opening.”

James sighs, loud and dramatic, prompting a smile and a roll of Karen’s eyes. “You can ask him yourself, you know,” he says, “you have his number. And I’m not going to pick up the cakes, I’m going to pick up Matt.”

Karen’s eyes go wide, flicking between the present box in James’ hand and the calendar on the wall. “Is it Thursday already?” she asks, looking down at her phone to double-check. “It can’t be Thursday already, I have—”

“An appointment with the Carters, I moved it to tomorrow.”

The tension bleeds out of Karen’s shoulders, and she steps forward to kiss James’ cheek. He smiles back at her, wide and genuine, and she mirrors it. “You’re an angel,” she says, pinching his cheek and laughing at the way he pulls back with a mock-offended scoff. “Good luck tonight, say hello for me.”

“Will do,” James says, calling the words over his shoulder as he beelines out of the office.

The sidewalk is busy. It’s rush hour, probably not the best time to cross the city by subway, but James hadn’t had much time to plan the night out. He’s been busy these days, he and Karen have had so many clients flooding in since he came out officially. It had been a bit of a shocker for Mills, but it had gained Karen and James the loyalty of just about every progressive organization in the city. He’s used to it by now, though, the constant rush of work is all he needs to keep him afloat during the week.

That, of course, and Matthew.

He swipes his card at the subway entrance, sprinting to make it onto the train before the doors close. It’s crowded inside, the crush of people around him nearly overwhelming, and he curses as he nearly drops the gift box when a woman turns around and accidentally swings her purse into him. He catches it as it tumbles to the floor, though, only scratched up a little. There’s a tear on the corner, where the purse caught the wrapping paper, but he supposes he can just cover that with his thumb when he hands it over.

He checks his watch. Nearly seven. Christ, he’s running late, and he fumbles his phone out of his pocket to send out a text to Margaret.

Running late, he writes, keep him in the shop. After a moment of consideration, he taps out a quick please and sends that off as well.

Margaret sends back a cryptic smiley face, and he supposes that will have to do for now.

The ride to the shop is excruciating, nervous anticipation bubbling up in his chest with every subway stop he passes. The crowd thins out as the train passes through a residential area, and he manages to find a space that doesn’t force him up against the door after a few stops. Pulling his phone out again, he wills down the nerves, pulling up Karen’s texts.

Don’t forget about the venue confirmation, I think they’ll call around eight, he sends, staring at the screen until Karen’s reply pops up.

I’ve got it under control, she sends, followed by stop stressing out.

I am literally in a constant state of stress. You know that, he sends back.

Karen’s reply is short and infuriating, a simple ha ha. James is going to spontaneously combust before he can even make it off this damn subway train.

Finally, blissfully, he manages to step off the train, taking the steps two at a time up to street level. The air is crisp and cool when he steps out, the late fall breeze cutting clean through his clothes and chilling him to the bone. He walks as fast as he can toward the bakery, nearly stumbling when he runs straight into Margaret on the sidewalk.

“Margaret?”

Her eyes go wide, and her cheeks flush when she realizes who he is. “Shit,” she hisses, “I was supposed to make it to the subway before you got here.”

“What?” he asks, blinking and trying to piece together what she meant, but she just waves him off and pats his arm.

“Just go see him,” she says, “he’s waiting for you.”

“He’s waiting for me? This was supposed to be a surprise, Megs,” he whines, and she pulls a face at him.

“It is! You’ll see, just go see him.”

With that, she takes off down the sidewalk, and James watches her leave for a moment before shaking himself and continuing down the street.

The bakery lights are off when he walks up, which really should be the first clue. It’s empty inside, the chairs set up on the tables like it’s the middle of the night. On the door, the sign is flipped to closed.

“Matt?” James asks into the empty air, even though he knows no one is nearby. Reaching out, he tries the door, surprised to find it open. “Matthew?” he asks again inside the shop, looking around at the empty tables.

“In here,” comes Matt’s voice, from the kitchen. When James pushes open the door, he’s met with the sight of Matthew standing in a suit, every available bit of counter space covered in lit candles. James nearly drops his present when he notices that the back table is set with a gingham tablecloth and a chicken pot pie, the same as their first date.

“Happy anniversary,” says Matt, stepping forward and wrapping James up in a hug.

“What’s all this?” James asks weakly, overwhelmed by just how much he loves the man standing in front of him. “I had a surprise for you,” he finishes, pushing the present into Matt’s hands.

“I know,” Matt laughs, nosing at the skin underneath James’ ear. “Margaret can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

“All this is for me?” James asks, looking around at the kitchen with a bewildered expression on his face. Matt chuckles, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“I didn’t get to do it the way I wanted the first time around,” Matt admits. “I hope it’s okay.“

“It’s perfect,” James says, and Matt hears the “you’re perfect” underneath the words.

 

 *THE END*

 

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