Page 38 of Icy Pour

“I was thinking about the factory. You know…I used to spend eight hours a day in that stuffy place, watching the clock crawl toward quitting time like paint drying on a wall. And yet,” I place my hand on the small of his back, “most days I never leave this building, and I’ve never been happier.”

“Same.”

“And the fact that you’ve got your arm around me in a public place? I’m proud of you, boss.”

He shakes his head. “Come into the office with me.”

“I don’t think we have time for⁠—”

“Oh, calm down; we already took care of that this morning,” he whispers. “I have something for you.”

“Cover me for a bit?” I yell to Sandy. Walt couldn’t stand her not having a job, and with all the extra business, he insisted on hiring her.

“No problem! You two behave back there…or don’t!”

Sandy winks.

Walt rolls his eyes.

I wrinkle my brows, trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

“I know it’s the first anniversary of you opening the bar and all, boss, but please don’t throw a bottle of vodka back here in remembrance.”

He snorts as we close ourselves into the office. “That was one time, and you weren’t even here. Will you stop bringing it up?”

“Never.”

He walks over to the desk and picks up a white shirt box with a piece of twine tied around it and hands it to me.

“What’s this?” I shake the box. “Another key?”

“Something like that. Open it.”

My hands tremble as I lift the lid off, not knowing what the hell is in here. I dart my gaze between the box and him as I pull open the tissue paper covering…

I blink. “You got me…you got me a stack of papers?”

He laughs. “It’s not just papers. It’s paperwork.”

I tilt my head, stifling a groan. “Paperwork for what? You want me to file your taxes? You’re the financial mastermind in this relationship; I can barely balance my checkbook.”

As he grabs my hand, the memories of those first few weeks all come flooding back, my heart racing in anticipation of whatever this is.

“I want you to be a co-owner of the bar.”

My jaw falls to the floor. “Walt. What? You can’t…what if…”

“I know you don’t want or need this. I know there are risks. I also know you don’t care what we can be called as a couple. You’ve told me no less than a million times it doesn’t matter to anyone except us. But it matters to me. If I can’t legally call you my husband, I’d like to be legally tied to you as a business partner.”

I’m not typically a crier, but that damn mist hits my eyes. He has got to dust this office more often.

“Are you…you’re sure?”

“I am.” He nods. “And there’s more.”

“More? Please tell me I don’t have to do the tax paperwork if I’m a co-owner.”

He laughs again, this time deep in his belly, before pulling me into a tight embrace. “Not for the bar. Not unless I die. Then you’ll have to file the tax returns.”