And so we come to the end of the story. There's something so satisfying about changing the setting from In Progress to Complete, especially for this story which I started over two years ago.
Thank you to those who have followed, favorited, and reviewed. You people rock! And finally, a special shout out to my beta reader for this story, midnightandahalf.
Chapter 17
Epilogue
The dark room, the city lights on display through the window, and the glass of Scotch in my hand. Déjà vu. I sip the amber liquid and enjoy the warm sensation as it flows down my throat. The quiet is broken by the sound of the hamster wheel in the aquarium on the side table hitting maximum RPM's.
A lot has changed in my life over the last year.
The soft rustle of fabric and the sharp click of an evening bag being closed draw my gaze away from the window toward the woman walking out of our bedroom. The little black dress is modest with a high neckline and a length even Helen Plum would approve of, but my cock twitches as I take in the woman before me.
"Nice dress. Take it off," I say, only half joking.
"You look pretty spiffy yourself. Very Bruce Wayne," she says with a sexy smile. "We don't have to go out, you know. I don't mind staying in and celebrating at home."
"Not gonna happen, Babe. We're keeping our reservation. But when we get home, I promise to show you how good that dress looks on the floor." And I always keep my promises.
The click of her black strappy heels as we cross the marble foyer to the elevator stir thoughts of her in nothing but the red soled shoes. Note to self, leave the shoes on. I know she feels my excitement against her gorgeous ass when I pull her back against me as we ride the elevator to the garage.
She thinks it is gentlemanly of me to hold the passenger door as she lowers herself into the leather seat, and I use the opportunity to admire those long toned legs. Legs that will be wrapped around me later tonight.
She's quiet on the short drive to Rossini's, but the silence is comfortable. The maítre ď greets us warmly and leads us to our table in the back. Eyes follow us as we walk through the restaurant, but the days of phones coming out to record Steph's latest disaster are a thing of the past. The 'Burg grapevine has moved on to juicier gossip.
The table is set at a forty-five degree angle from the wall, allowing us both to sit with our backs to the wall and still be able to face each other. Neither of us needs to look at the menu and the waiter appears to take our order.
"I'll have the fettuccine alfredo with grilled chicken and only a half portion of the alfredo sauce," Steph says. Looking at me she adds with a smile, "It may kill me, but it will take twice as long."
Gone are the days of the blank face and I grin back at her.
"I'll have the grilled chicken, with risotto, steamed vegetables, and a house salad with the vinaigrette on the side," I order, much to her amusement. She's fond of saying my food choices will make my taste buds die of boredom.
I stick with water, and Steph orders a glass of chardonnay to go with her dinner. When the waiter returns with her drink I lift my glass.
"To you. You have worked hard to accomplish the goals you set out for yourself last year. I'm proud of you, Babe. Congratulations."
The sound of clinking glasses carries to the tables nearest us and the curious turn to look. Gossip mongers eager for their next tidbit. Disappointment is obvious when there is no indication of what is going on.
"Thank you. And thank you for your constant support," she replies as she takes a dainty sip and sets her wine glass back on the table. "It also helped to have a building full of volunteers willing to help me with self-defense and firearms training."
"Don't sell yourself short. You made the commitment to change and put in the work. Plum Private Investigations is all you."
"It took a while. I realized my strength was tracking down people. That's what I'm good at. After that, it was an easy decision to make. Most of the time it was just pure luck that I was able to bring the FTA in. How often did I have to find someone multiple times before I could bring them back into the system?" I assume that's a rhetorical question and hold my tongue.
The conversation pauses as we watch Joe Morelli move toward us, practically dragging his date behind him. The woman is young, early to mid twenties, with curly brown hair and a nice figure. I'd bet the keys to the Turbo she has blue eyes. Morelli has proven he has a type since he and Steph split for the final time.
"I'm surprised to see you here, Cup- um, Steph. I thought you'd bought into the whole body is a temple thing," Joe says as he reaches the table.
When Steph shared with me the origins of that particular nickname I was tempted to break my rule about not doing stupid things, but I refrained. Instead, I sought out the asshole and explained in graphic detail what I would do to Joe if he continued using the offensive moniker.
"I'm certainly taking better care of myself these days. It's something everyone should consider," she replies before allowing her eyes to drop to the beginnings of a paunch above his waistband.
"I heard you finally left Vinnie's," Joe says, ignoring the jab.
It pisses him off when Steph doesn't offer any information. She has learned a lot in the last year.
"Did you finally take a job at Macy's? Or the personal products plant?" He's fishing now.
"Neither," Steph replies cooly.
"I work at Macy's." The brunette offers. "I do make-overs. It's a lot of fun but sometimes it can be really hard. Like when a thirty something woman wants to look young again. I mean, come on, I'm not a miracle worker!" Her voice reminds me of Minnie Mouse.
"I'm Bambi, by the way. Bambi Bianchi," she says, giving us a little finger wave.
"I'm Steph and he's Ranger," Steph offers politely.
"Nice to meet you. Come on, Joey. The host is waiting to seat us and I'm hungry." Minnie Mouse is pulling on Joe's arm now.
The waiter arrives with our food and there is no excuse for Joe to linger.
We're long past the point where Joe can put a damper on our evening and the interruption is dismissed. The food is delicious and I enjoy the company of my beautiful wife. In addition to celebrating the launch of her new company, we're also celebrating our three month anniversary. It's not as if we've kept it a secret, but we haven't announced it either. So far, no one from the 'Burg seems to have noticed. Since we both wear wedding bands, I have to question the observational powers of a certain detective.
The waiter asks Steph if she wants her usual dessert and receives a nod and a smile. He returns with an order of tiramisu. Half the portion is on the plate he sets in front of her and half is in the box he sets on the table. Greg has been our waiter before and knows how to get a big tip.
It's past the dinner hour for the hard working Burgers and many tables are empty as we make our way to the exit. From our left, I hear Minnie Mouse call.
"Steph. Woo hoo, Steph."
Steph looks at me and rolls her eyes before we change course. Better to nip this in the bud than ignore her and have her draw more attention to us.
"Listen, I wanted to say sorry if I offended you earlier. Joey told me how old you are and I, like, couldn't believe it! I mean, I would have said twenty nine at the most. Anyhoo, stop by Macy's anytime and I'll be happy to share some tips that will take years off your look." Steph's fingers are digging into my upper arm as she struggles to remain polite while the clueless wonder goes on.
"Thanks," she says with a tight smile. "That's very kind of you."
"I texted my mom and she said you're starting your own business. I would have thought Manoso would have given you a job," Joe says.
Nice touch with the finger quotes around "job," asshole.
"Steph's contributions to Rangeman are invaluable, but I'm happy to support her in whatever opportunity she wants to pursue." Asshole should be the default end to every sentence I speak to him.
"Mom said you were opening your own bond agency," Morelli adds.
"The gossips are misinformed," Steph replies. "I'm opening a private investigation office."
She turns to Bambi, "Keep me in mind if you ever want proof of a cheating boyfriend or husband. Like, I could follow Joe around and report on all the other women he's sleeping with."
Babe one; Asshole zero.
"You could be so lucky," Joe sneers, raising his wine glass to his mouth.
"You know, Joe, sometimes it's better to be good than lucky," Steph responds with an angelic smile and a wave of her left hand before turning on her red soled heel and taking my arm.
Moving toward the exit, there is the very satisfying sound of a wine glass hitting the floor behind us. Guess he finally noticed.