With the need to make sure what happened last night continues outside of the bedroom, I thread my fingers into her golden hair, tugging to tilt her head back.
“Good morning,” I rasp before pressing my mouth to hers, tasting the toothpaste on her tongue.
Drunken and loose, she melts into my side. “You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted you to kiss me over breakfast.”
So I do just that, again and again until the veggie omelets I made are ready.
She pulls her coffee from the fridge, adding one of the atrociously sweet creamers. “Maybe it’s acts of service. That could be your love language. Every morning you make sure my coffee is cold, so it doesn’t get watered down when I add ice. I’ve always noticed that.” She looks at me, cocking her head and speaking softly. “Thank you.”
Maybe she’s right. Maybe that is my love language because even though I could’ve easily bought cold coffee for the fridge, I like the smile I get to see when she pulls her cup out and realizes I made one for her.
At some point, I should probably tell her that my love language is whichever one she wants it to be so she can stop guessing. I’ll make sure that girl feels loved however she needs.
Taking a seat next to me, Indy slides a folder next to my plate.
“What is this?”
A heat rushes her cheeks. “Ignore this if I’m overstepping, but that day we went camping when you told me you wanted to start your own foundation, I couldn’t get it out of my head. You said it felt overwhelming, so I thought maybe I could help steer you in the right direction.”
Opening the folder, endless papers detail the ins and outs of a new nonprofit. Startup costs, fundraising projections, description, and a thorough marketing plan. Every detail is carefully thought out and organized, only needing a name to round out the comprehensive business plan.
The knowledge of what this is swells my throat, keeping me from speaking.
Indy continues for me. “We start small. A lot of these kids, they don’t have a place to go over the summers like they do during the school year. They don’t have school-provided meals either and I’d imagine, because of that, maybe some kids don’t get to eat those days. So, what if we run a summer camp, something to keep them in a scheduled environment? We provide meals and a safe place to play.” She flips through the pages, but I’m not reading a word. I’m looking at her. “We get some of the outdoor courts around Chicago cleaned up. Your shoe deal includes sneaker donations. They have something to wear. As we grow, we move into the school year, creating after-school programs. Here’s my projection.” She motions towards a chart. “In five years, this is how many kids we should be able to help if this is the rate at which we grow.”
I stay silent, mesmerized by every single word that comes out of her mouth.
Nervousness and ingrained insecurities take over. She pulls her hands into her lap, leaving the folder on the kitchen counter. “Only if you want to, I mean. And it’s only a rough draft—”
I interrupt her with a searing kiss before her innate need to tone herself down comes into play. Her nerves melt away as she melts into me.
“You’re incredible,” I murmur against her lips.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s everything.”
“Do you like it?”
Do I like it? I love it. I especially loved how many times she used the word we when outlining the plan.
“Like isn’t a strong enough word, Blue. This means everything to me, truly. Thank you.”
I don’t miss the proud little smile that slides across her lips from being praised for her brilliant mind instead of being warned to hold herself back. It makes me want to spend every day of the rest of my life reminding her just how incredibly bright she is until I get to watch those insecurities wash away.
The detail and care she put into every single page bleeds into the words as I flip through the pages.
“This is what you went to school for?”
“Yep. My degree is in business with concentrations in finance and administration. I had planned to go into the field after I graduated.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I quickly learned that most of the time, I would be working with rich people to make them even richer, and numbers got real boring that way.”
Indy takes a bite of her breakfast, and I can’t help but stare. She’s more intelligent than she allows most people to see. She’s wonderful at putting on a happy mask and making sure everyone around her feels good about themselves. I can imagine that it got exhausting when stroking the egos and pockets of the wealthy.
She’s, as always, an interesting mix of idealism and logic, leaning towards the romantic side. The soft side. The loving side where she lets herself feel everything and care for everyone. I’m sure it was hard for her to find much feeling behind numbers.
But this, finding a way to help kids, you can see the passion she’s put into this business plan.
“So you became a flight attendant instead?”
“Mm-hmm,” she says with a happy hum. “I love my job. I’m with people all day and I get to travel the world. I wanted to see as much of it as I could before I settled down with a family one day.” Eyes darting to mine, she swiftly changes the subject, clearing her throat. “Are you going to your game tonight?”
It’s the first one since my injury and though I was given permission to skip, I promised Leon I’d be there to help him. I want to help him. I want us to win, regardless that I won’t be the one putting up the points.
“I am. Are you?”
“Do you want me there?”
“I want you there.”
I want you everywhere.
“Then I’ll be there.”
This morning’s press conference was the first since my injury and easily the longest of my career. Endless questions that I answered, as always, as diplomatically as possible.
When am I back? Hopefully three to four weeks.
How are you feeling? Great. I’ve made progress in the few short days since it happened.
Do you think the team will be able to pull off a month without you? I have faith in my guys.
If I could be honest, I’d tell the truth—that I feel as if I let an entire organization, an entire city down. But I have to be perfect, on at all times, and that includes media interviews. I can’t let them see me sweat.
I couldn’t be more thankful that I’m not on crutches as I stand on the sidelines. The stares and speculation are enough. I can almost feel the cameras zooming in on me, reporters talking about me in their broadcasts.
I hate it.
“You doing okay, man?” Ethan smacks my shoulder.
“As good as I can be.”
“It’s big of you to be here. This is the time when you find out the kind of leader you are. You’re not faking it for Ron. You’re showing up for them.” He motions towards the team.
I’ve spent the last handful of months curating my life in order to convince my boss that I’m a good leader. But today, he wasn’t on my mind when I made the decision to show up, and for the first time in a long time, I’m beginning to feel like my old college self. The one who led his team to two national championships. The guy who trusted people without second-guessing their motives.