Page 47 of Happily Ever Laughter

There she is. A small figure in a black hoodie with a large camera.

“Tanis!” I call out as my shoes pound along the narrow concrete path.

She looks up, startled. I grab her by the elbow and lead her to a nearby bench. Her eyes look a bit puffy, and if I’ve made her cry, I’ll beat myself up about it later.

“I’m sorry – we can talk about everything later. I need your approval right now.”

Pulling out the laptop, I open it to the panel of the show credits. “Is your name spelled right?”

She blinks, peering at the screen. “Yes.”

“Is that wording all right with you? Video and animation?”

“Yes.” She looks confused, but her eyes sparkle as she sees her name on the screen.

“So you approve this completely?”

“Yes. Why are you so–”

I hold up a finger and grab my phone, praying that the six percent battery will last for a voice call.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Charles, it’s Felix. The latest version of the credits is approved, with the new video and animation line for Tanis Johnson added.”

I can hear him chuckle. “Right at the wire. That’s not like you.”

“Weird day. Power outage. Thanks for getting this done,” I say.

“No problem. We’ll process it with the new text panel, and off it goes. Talk to you soon.”

“Thanks.”

I hang up, put away the laptop, then slump on the bench, finally taking a full breath.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly, sitting down but giving Tanis plenty of room. “I had to get that sent before eleven, and I couldn’t risk either not having your name on your work, or having it spelled wrong. I’m sorry – I’ve never seen your last name written down.”

“Hmm,” she nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, it’s weird that it’s only been a week and a half. It feels like much more.”

“It is more. Time is an imaginary construct and all that,” I say, hoping to make her smile. “But you did say that you wanted a bit of space. And I want to give you everything you need.”

It’s nearly painful not to reach out and take her hand, but I don’t want to risk scaring her off by not respecting her boundaries to the letter.

“Shall I leave and let you get back to shooting, or would you like a ride home?”

Her pretty blue eyes seem lost in thought. “Home, thank you.”

We walk to the van, and as I offer my hand to help her in, she squeezes my fingers in a way that tells me she’s still mine. Relief courses through every vein, and I grin to myself as I start driving.

“Anything we should grab on the way?” I ask. “Groceries, furniture, anything you need a van and a brawny man for?”

I’m rewarded with a giggle. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

When we get to her apartment, I help her out, then hesitate. Shutting the van door, I keep her hand in mine. I want to ask her if I can come in, but don’t want to feel the punch to the gut if she says no. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, but I can’t leave without telling her that she’s already my world.

Standing uncomfortably in front of her building, I thread my fingers through hers and hold on, praying that she doesn’t let go.

I have no way of knowing whether she understands how tense I feel as I finally manage to ask, “Well, sweetheart, what now?”

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