Dropping the Ball

37. Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Two

Micah

When I spot Kaitlyn and the others, I’m working down near the stage. I stop the music and make my way over.

Mrs. Armstrong doesn’t notice me, but even though her voice is faint as her eyes travel over the rebar, I hear her say, “I had no idea.”

Madison is silent as she stares up at the canopy of massive marigolds. Her face wears the wonder I felt when I saw the Basìlica de la Sagrada Famìlia in Barcelona on an architecture tour my senior year of college.

I’ve seen people look pleased or charmed by things I’ve designed, but I’ve never seen someone look like this, and I’m fiercely proud again that Madison chose my proposal.

“This is incredible,” Mrs. Armstrong says, trying to look everywhere at once. “I know I’m in a warehouse. Concrete floors. Windowless walls. Hideous lighting. But it feels like . . .”

Kaitlyn smiles as I reach them. “You’ve left my mom speechless.”

I stay quiet so her mom and Madison have their experience in silence. And it is silence. I have no crew in here today. I came in on my own to work on a side project.

Kaitlyn squints at the unfinished project on the other side of the warehouse, a wire cage partially filled with Styrofoam packing peanuts. Her eyes come back to me and the bits of white fluff sticking all over my gray thermal and black jeans.

She looks at me longer than she needs to in order to figure out what the white stuff is. Her eyes trace my shoulders and thighs like I’m letting these clothes live their best life.

When she catches herself staring, she darts a look back to my project. “Micah, are you building a snowman?”

“Yes.”

“Are you supposed to have today off?” she asks.

“Yes. And I’m spending it building a snowman.”

Harper lets out an angry wail.

“She needs to eat,” Madison says.

I point to the supervisor’s loft and the table and folding chair beside the door at the same time. “You can sit either of these places or one of the front offices if you want.”

“Here and now is always better,” she says as Mrs. Armstrong takes the baby.

Madison settles into the chair and begins to unbutton her blouse. Mrs. Armstrong hurries to stand in front of her and gives me a polite smile. “She’s going to nurse.”

“It’s a working mammary, Mom,” Madison says, “not the nuclear codes. Micah will be fine.”

“This is one of those generational things,” Mrs. Armstrong says.

I know I’m supposed to be on Madison’s side here, but I’m still not used to my friends’ wives nursing wherever and whenever. Kaitlyn glances at me to see how I’m taking this, and whatever she sees on my face makes her bite back a smile and take pity on me.

“Micah, why don’t you give us an update?”

I nod and turn, conveniently placing Madison and Harper behind me as Mrs. Armstrong hands off her squalling grandchild. There’s a baby grunt followed by smacking sounds.

“Go ahead, Micah. I’m listening,” Madison says.

“Right. So, the entrance will be through there.” I point to the closed bay door to our right. “Guests will leave the step-and-repeat, go up the stairs for another photo op, then descend the grand staircase on this side.” I point to the stairs under construction. “They’ll look more impressive in a month. Then guests enter the installation . . .”

I continue pointing to different elements, showing them where the dinner tables and stage will be, the lighting rig, and other practical considerations.

“Could I walk through it?” Mrs. Armstrong asks when I finish.

“Of course.” I lead her farther into the steel canopy, answering questions.

When she thinks we’re out of earshot, Madison asks Katie, “What’s going on with you and Micah?”

Kaitlyn’s voice is lower, but I’m too focused on her answer to miss it. “We figured out how to work together.”

“Right. I’ve never invited a coworker to family Thanksgiving. Neither have you. In fact, you’ve never invited anyone to Thanksgiving. So talk.”

If Mrs. Armstrong can make out what they’re saying, she gives no indication, and I take a few hurried steps over to point at one of the welded joints of a leaf to explain how the welders did it.

Mrs. Armstrong has several questions and twice that many opinions as we move through the canopy, stopping often to touch something and say, “My goodness.”

When we reach the edge where the canopy curls outward to accommodate the stage, she turns to study the whole thing.

“Madison wouldn’t listen to me when I tried to make her see reason about holding this at the Four Seasons or Austin Proper, and I’m so very glad. It’s stunning.”

“Thank you,” I say, knowing she probably doesn’t pay compliments lightly.

“You’re a talented young man.”

“I appreciate that.” I don’t need to hear it from her to know it’s true, but for Madison and Kaitlyn’s sakes, I’m relieved that she’s pleased.

“Let’s go check with my girls. Madison may be ready to take Harper home.”

I nod and give a polite go ahead gesture.

“—blown away,” Madison is saying as we reach them. “I can’t believe what you’ve done with it.”

“That’s all you and Micah,” Kaitlyn says, smiling at me.

“You’re the battlefield general making it happen,” Madison says. “You don’t get to downplay your work on my watch.”

As we reach them, Madison pulls a burp cloth from her diaper bag and sets Harper on her knee, patting her back. Harper gives an enormous burp that makes me laugh. “How did that sound come out of her?”

“She’s a marvel of engineering,” Madison says, “just like this installation.”

“You can’t compare Micah’s art to a baby burp,” Kaitlyn scolds.

“I’m honored,” I say, still grinning. Maybe guys never outgrow burps being funny.

“And I’m thrilled,” Madison says. “This is beyond what I even dreamed. Thank you for taking this project.”

“Thank you for choosing me to do it,” I answer. For so many reasons .

“There’s only one thing missing,” Madison adds, scanning the warehouse.

Kaitlyn looks as surprised as I am to hear we’ve missed something, especially since we’ve added to her vision.

“There,” Madison says, pointing at the wall opposite the bay door. “The Marigold Austin sign should go there.”

I wrinkle my forehead. “The what?”

Madison doesn’t answer, standing instead. “Harper has had enough to hold her over until I can nurse her properly in front of a Selling Sunset marathon. See you Monday,” she tells Kaitlyn. Then with a wink at her mom, she hands Mrs. Armstrong the diaper bag. “We have some big-ticket phone calls to make.” They disappear through the exit, leaving Kaitlyn and me alone.

“Did she say Marigold Austin?” I ask.

“She did. It was your idea,” she says.

“Pretty sure I never said those two words together.”

“Maybe you had an assist from Drake Braverman.”

“Now I’m really confused.”

She tilts her head and smiles. “Come on. Let’s build a snowman and I’ll tell you about it.”

A half hour later, the snowman is headless, and I am speechless. I stand in front of Frosty, listening, while Kaitlyn leans her arms on the snowman’s empty wire head—we ran out of packing peanuts—and finishes her explanation.

“And that is how, between you introducing me to the talent in your neighborhood and Drake explaining what it would take for them to donate, Marigold Austin happened.”

My own head feels empty as I try to wrap my mind around what she’s explaining. “This is a done deal?”

“I’ll need to pull a proposal together by Monday afternoon for a board meeting, but they’ll go for it.”

I run my hands through my hair, staring at this magical woman. “I’m blown away.”

“I have something else to tell you.”

“Not sure I can absorb anymore but hit me.”

She grimaces and straightens. Wipes her hands down the front of her dark tan velvet pants. Clears her throat. “I’m . . . ready.”

“You’re ready?” Did I forget something we’re supposed to do?

“For us. I’m ready.” Her eyes meet mine.

I go still for a second as I read her expression, her blue eyes shiny with hope, her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip like she’s expecting another rejection.

“You’re ready for us,” I repeat. My heart rate kicks up.

She nods. “The next month is going to be wild handling the final details for this gala, and I’ve suddenly given myself the massive job of creating Marigold Austin. There will be nothing normal about my schedule, but if you can find some of your legendary patience, I’d much rather balance all of that with you than balance any of it without you.”

I was prepared to wait as long as it took for her to say these words, but I was afraid it would take months—at least until February and the bar exam—before she would say and mean them. But it’s now. I smile as it sinks in. It’s happening right now.

This seems to give her more courage. “It doesn’t feel at all like balance without you, Micah.”

“You’re ready.” I slide the snowman away with my foot. I glance from it to her. “There’s nothing between us.”

“Only literally?”

I cross my arms, knowing it accentuates my chest. This wonder of a woman deserves a reward, and when her eyes drop straight to my pecs, my smile stretches into a full grin. “In every sense. Just one question, Katie-Kat. What took you so long?”

We reach for each other, and I pull her so tightly against me that we may as well be welded. I duck to kiss her, no gentle hello this time. I’ve been starved for her, and she kisses me back as if she’s been just as hungry for me.

Eventually, she pulls slightly away. I murmur an objection. “We have lost time to make up for.”

“Yes. I don’t know how much will be enough, but there’s not a measurement I can think of that will cover it.”

“Not time, not quantity, not intensity.” I kiss her where commas would fall between each phrase.

She presses another full, soft kiss against my lips. “I agree. I only needed to catch my breath.”

I brush a kiss against the corner of her mouth. “I prefer to take it away.”

“You’ve been doing that since ninth grade.”

I press my forehead against hers, almost disbelieving she’s finally confessing. “Call it payback.”

She leans back enough to look into my eyes. “This feels impossible.”

“It feels inevitable,” I counter.

“Impossible the way magic is impossible.”

“Inevitable the way physics is inevitable.”

“I beat you in physics,” she reminds me, smiling.

“Then you should understand the inevitability even better than I do.”

She smooths her thumbs over my lips, swollen from kissing her, and I pull her to me to double down.

“Words like that, the good work you’re doing here”—she traces my mouth—“must always be rewarded. And who, after all, is more generous than the head of a nonprofit?” She pulls away only long enough to turn the Christmas music back on, and then she’s in my arms, applying herself to rewarding me with her legendary diligence.

Truly.

Legendary.