After their breakfast, there was a mild argument about where to go, what to do. Finally they both agreed to go back to Bramley’s apartment to make love again.
“You like Indian food?” Bramley asked as they walked along Oak Lane, hand in hand.
“I, I’ve never had it,” Ann said. “Where would we even get that?”
“There’s that Bombay Café right there, right by the hospital,” Bramley said, pulling Ann toward the apartment complex.
“You?” Ann asked.
“Me what?” Bramley asked, cutting through the rear of the complex.
“You like Indian food?” Ann asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve never had it,” Bramley admitted. “I say to Haralson I want to try it and he looks it up and makes it and all I want to do is just try it, just see what it’s like and…”
“I promise you this,” Ann said, hugging Bramley. “Anything you want to try, well, as long as it’s not dangerous or nothing? We will try. WE. We will try it together.”
“See? I love you,” Bramley smiled, dragging Ann to the apartment quickly.
The couch was a comfortable place to make love. The bed was a comfortable place to nap after making love on the couch. After rousing, Bramley grabbed another outfit and followed Ann to Ann’s apartment.
They showered together, emptying Ann’s hot water tank. Dressing together also took far too long; they kept stopping so that they could kiss, or simply hug.
“Bramley, I’m starving,” Ann finally demanded, turning her back on Bramley. “Come on. Get dressed.”
“You’re no fun,” Bramley accused, but did finish dressing and applying her makeup.
The food was amazing; with their waiter’s help they managed to order a meal that woke their taste buds. During the meal, Bramley excused herself after taking a hefty bite of Ann’s chicken tiki. Ann watched Bramley having a conversation with the waiter, plenty of hand gestures between the two of them.
A few minutes later, Bramley reappeared and took another large bite of Ann’s meal. Ann steeled herself and tried Bramley’s lamb dish, even though she was sure she would absolutely hate lamb. She took another bite, moaning in delight.
“Why not just switch plates?” the waiter smiled, refilling their glasses of mango tea.
“Because this is more fun,” Bramley smiled, linking fingers with Ann.
“Hmm? Why, why yes it is, silly me,” the man smiled widely.
Stepping out of the restaurant into the mid-afternoon summer heat, they heard the splatter and sizzle of the first raindrops hitting the sun baked sidewalk just past the awning of the restaurant. With a delighted squeal, Ann pulled Bramley out onto the small courtyard in front of 2 Alliance Square. Over Bramley’s squeals and protests, Ann pulled Bramely through an impromptu waltz.
Typical of most rainstorms in this area of Texas, the rainstorm was over mere minutes after it had begun. With delighted giggles, Bramley and Ann scampered to the parking garage to begin the frantic search for Bramley’s car.
That evening, over Bramley’s protests, they stayed at home and finished the vegetable beef soup. They also made some instant chocolate pudding and fed each other the gooey sweet treat. Then, after several soft kisses, they went to bed.
“I don’t believe I’ll ever be able to sleep any other way,” Bramley announced in the morning. “That diner’s open.”
Monday night, knowing that Haralson would be back the following afternoon, unless he was called to another rig, Bramley insisted they go to Tokyo Gardens. Ann enthusiastically agreed; she’d always wanted to try the place.
“It’s kind of dressy,” Bramley warned.
“That sundress? I mean, I have other stuff, but…” Ann said.
The cook delighted both girls with his silly patter and his knife skills. The food was superb and as usual, they insisted on sharing from each other’s plates. Ann was unconcerned if they might be garnering looks from any patrons; she was on a date with a friend.
That thought brought her up short. In the past, Ann MacIntosh had fretted, had worried deeply about what others thought of her, how others might perceive her.
“Looking into those eyes? I don’t care about anyone else,” Ann said out loud.
“I know,” Bramley agreed. “I feel the same way.”
“What time do you get off work Wednesday?” Bramley asked as they settled down in Bramley’s large bed that evening.
“Wednesday? Same as any other day; I get out at about five, five thirty,” Ann shrugged, wiggling back to put her compact buttocks against Bramley’s warm crotch.
“Okay, well, let’s see. You know where the White Building is? Off Judge Roberts?” Bramley asked.
“That… Yeah. Why’s it called the White Building? I mean, it should be called the Black Building,” Ann agreed, thinking of the tall black glass building.
“Billings White designed and built it; his architecture firm takes up the top three floors,” Bramley said.
“Oh,” Ann said, wondering how Bramley seemed to know that.
“Anyway, when Mr. Tannenbaum died, Grandmother didn’t like his associate so she contacted Elizabeth Dumont and switched our accounts over to her,” Bramley informed Ann.
“Okay,” Ann said, twisting to look at Bramley over her shoulder.
The room was dark, but Ann could just make out Bramley’s dark shape. She thought she could see Bramley’s left eye glittering in the semi-blackness.
“I, I’ve been, I mean, I’m going over all these really elaborate and fancy ways to do this,” Bramley whispered, softly kissing Ann’s shoulder. “But really? I, I think this is the best way. You’re here in my arms. You’re nice and snuggled down, right where you belong and…”
Ann felt Bramley reach over her to the small nightstand. Bramley must have located what she was looking for; a moment later she snuggled against Ann’s back again.
“Ann? Ann MacIntosh; by the way, what’s your middle name?” Bramley asked.
“Don’t laugh. It’s my mother’s maiden name,” Ann warned.
“Why would I laugh?” Bramley asked.
“It’s Stevens. Ann Stevens MacIntosh,” Ann said.
“Okay. So, what’s so funny about that?” Bramley asked.
“Stevens? A guy’s name?” Ann said.
“Okay,” Bramley said, kissing Ann’s shoulder again. “So, Ann Stevie Mac…”
“See?” Ann squealed. “It’s not ‘Steve’ or Stevie!’ It’s just Stevens, you butt hole.”
“Settle down,” Bramley laughed, kissing Ann’s shoulder again. “Ann Stevens MacIntosh, I love you.”
“I love you too,” Ann agreed.
“I am in love with you,” Bramley whispered into Ann’s ear.
“I…” Ann started to say.
“Ann Stevens MacIntosh, will you marry me?” Bramley asked, placing a small velvet box against Ann’s chest.
“I, will I what?” Ann asked, jerking to sit up in the bed.
“It’s a simple question. Will you marry me? It requires a simple ‘yes’ or ‘yes’ answer,” Bramley said, sitting up next to Ann.
“I, marry? Marry you? What? Bramley, I, I’m not gay,” Ann sputtered.
“Jesus, who said, who said anything about being gay?” Bramley huffed. “I love you, you love me. If we get married, it solves a lot of my problems.”
“But, but, married? To each other?” Ann spluttered, feeling lightheaded.
“Please, please, just think about it?” Bramley begged, hugging Ann tightly.
After Ann agreed to think of it, seriously consider Bramley’s proposal, Ann and Bramley settled down again. Ann felt the ring box roll slightly and come to rest against her belly.