In a Month’s Time

They always say, when you know, you know.

To most people, airports are hot, stuffy, chaotic and filled with every ounce of stress. On the contrary, they’re also freeing. You can get away with the strangest things, but also get kicked out for the smallest threats. Try to sneak in a pair of scissors through TSA and you may never be able to fly again. However, if you want to throw back three beers at 7am before your flight, load up on gummy bears and overpriced mentos, no one is stopping you. 

From pajamas to business attire, you see it all. The old couple coming back from a trip. Dripping in souvenired merchandise. The exhausted mother who has relented all screen time rules to keep her kids sane in public. And that one girl who is always overly dressed for every occasion, including today at the airport, wearing heels, jeans and far too much makeup. 

“Attention all passengers arriving from New York on flight 3267, your bags will be unloading on carousel 3. Welcome to Nashville.”

Talking Heads fill my headphones to cover up the insane amount of country music propaganda on these walls. As I wait for my bags to make their way onto the belt, I look at the folks surrounding me. It’s always odd how many people need to travel to one place at the same time. Some staying for a weekend, some awhile, and if you’re like me, you’re staying forever.

Because you’re never going back.

You didn’t travel with a carryon, you came with several large suitcases and a need for a new beginning. To leave everything and everyone behind in that small town holding nothing but memories. Neither good nor bad.

I’m a realist though, and I know the honeymoon phase of a fresh start will only last for so long. First item on the agenda, find a job. 

*****

Nashville has some work to do before being labeled bike and public transport friendly. After 30 minutes of trying to figure out and find the nearest bus stop, I opted for a bike ride. I scored a bike off Craig’s List from a sweet gal who was, ironically enough, moving to New York City and said her apartment there offered no room for a bike. I was doing her a favor by taking it off her hands.

Shame she was moving, because we hit it off without a hitch. I thought for a moment I might have found my first friend. 

I look down at my hands and see the grease splotched on my fingers from the bike lock and handlebars as I made my way from East Nashville to 12 South. People online weren’t kidding about the heat, the south is no joke. Every inch of my body feels sticky. I need AC, caffeine and hand soap. ASAP.

My Maps sends me to a shop up the street and it’s clearly a hot spot. The line forms outside and people are waiting to be seated. What the heck is in this coffee? No way it’s astronomically different from the Starbucks around the corner. This is insane. 

“Hi, welcome to Frothy Monkey. Are you ordering for here or to go?” The trendy hostess greets me. Where this city lacks for public transport, they make up for in style. Every person is a walking aesthetically pleasing Pinterest board.

“To go, please.”

“Great, you can head inside and order.”

The immediate rush of AC throws my hair off my shoulders. Have mercy. Maybe I should have asked to dine in so I could soak this air in long enough to clear the sweat dripping down my back. 

Even ordering to go comes with a line, which I don’t mind. I browse the chalkboard menu for something unique, different. This is a new city, a new Ari, maybe I even expand my taste buds. 

Back in my small town upstate New York it was all the same. The good, the bad. Felt like a never-ending Groundhog Day. I saw my friends entering new stages of life - marriage, kids, new careers, but the title of wife, mom or VP of some fancy company didn’t change the fact that we were all living in the same routine over and over again. 

“Rosemary Honey Latte.” I overhear a woman in front of me ordering. The words themselves sound fancy and fun. I decide that’s what I’m drinking. No looking back. 

“Excuse me,” a man interrupts my order rehearsal in my head. You’d think years of working in the service industry wouldn’t make me nervous to talk to strangers, but the people in here intimidate me.

“Oh, sorry,” I inch back a few steps so he can make his way to the counter to grab his drink to go, but when I look up, I’m taken back.

This man is carrying nearly knee-length dreads. I’ve seen some style in this city, but this is a whole new level of… uniqueness. 

“Kev! My man! How’s it going today?” The barista behind the counter hands him his coffee. They exchange a quick high-five handshake like most men do, and I do my best to listen without staring. How is no one else looking? The dreads, the bandana tied around his forehead. He’s cute, don’t get me wrong, but he doesn’t quite follow the same fashion show everyone else is putting on here. 

Yet, he’s the one lighting up others in the room. 

He turns back around and our eyes lock. Shit. He’s coming back this way.

“Excuse me,” he points past me, asking to pass through the line, “again.”

All I can muster out is a soft smile that conveys, sorry I wasn’t meaning to stare. But the actual words don’t follow quite as easily. 

“I can help the next guest,” another barista yells out and shakes me from my anxious, overthinking thoughts about how I should have said hi to the man with dreads. Instead I stand there frozen. 

“How’s it going?” she continues to ask me, “I love your top, by the way. What can I get for you?”

My goodness, I’m not in the Northeast anymore. Southern hospitality is loud and warm. Where I’m from they would have called the next guest by now. 

“Rosemary Honey Latte, substitute with oat milk,” I finally blurt out with more confidence than the smile I just exchanged with the interesting man. 

To new beginnings. 

*****

I find myself a spot outside, thankfully shaded, and pull my computer out from my backpack. The couple sitting next to me might as well be the models for the photos that come in new picture frames. Beautiful, clean, happy, well-dressed yet casual, with two well-behaved children and the most delicious looking golden retriever. 

Taking stock of my surroundings, I notice it’s not just them, it’s everyone around me. This neighborhood is filled with people who sound and look the same. Families together on a Saturday morning, grabbing brunch, talking about their summer plans and the latest gossip from church. 

Not that I expected Nashville to be anything like New York, but I thought I was coming to a town of musicians, artists, creatives, people who didn’t just strive to be different, but were different and embraced it. Although I should be job searching, I can’t help but eavesdrop.

My staring is suddenly interrupted by a child’s blue basketball that hits my ankle. 

“Sorry about that,” a mom runs over to grab her loose child and the ball he threw my way, “He just learned how to throw and wants to play catch with everyone.”

“No worries, he is adorable,” I say as I pick up and hand the ball back to her.

“He’s a wild maniac is what he is,” she throws her hair back over her shoulder underneath her Lululemon hat and I catch a glimpse of her stunning ring. 

“They all are, in the best ways.”

“You have children?” she probes.

“Oh no. No way. I just moved here. Single and looking for a job. Definitely not ready for a child.”

Why am I offering up all this information? I’m blabbering like a fool. 

She sets her son down after wrestling to keep him still in her arms. His feet hit the ground and he’s off in another direction with the ball in hand, looking for another ankle victim. 

“Nice! Well welcome! What brought you to Nash? Where’d you move from?” Her warmth makes me feel welcome even though I definitely feel like an outsider with these southern locals and their polished Saturday morning routine. 

“New York, and oh, um--” pausing, wishing I had a better story or reason, “nothing major, just needed a fresh start.”

“Well you’re in the right place. You’ll love it here. And 12 South is incredible. What kind of work are you looking for?”

“Honestly, anything. Probably start in the service industry given my waitressing experience.”

“OMG! You have to check out Mafs down the street. We go there at least twice a month, the kids love the pizza, and the staff is incredible. Tell them Jill recommended you.”

I lift my sunglasses, “Jill, thank you. I’m Ari,” reaching out my hand.

“Pleasure is mine. Best of luck - hope we see you at Mafs,” and with that she’s off chasing down her son again. Covered in head to toe Lululemon, and sitting back down with yet another picture perfect family. 

Southern hospitality isn’t dead. Her kindness affirms that I made the right decision. I look up Mafs on my phone and head in that direction giving her a final smile on my way out. 

*****

It doesn’t matter if it’s 9am or 11pm, pizza always smells amazing. My nose is overwhelmed as soon as I open the door to Mafs and hear the sweet sound of a welcoming bell. Always an endearing detail for a restaurant. Brings a sense of intimacy. But the fresh smell of basil and tomato baking with mozzarella makes my stomach grumble. 

I look around and don’t see any customers, so I assume I’m probably early, and decide to wait until I catch a manager or waitress. 

Few minutes go by and nothing. Guess the bell isn’t as effective as it is endearing, so I make my way back to the kitchen.

“Hey, can I help you?” a man stops me before I push the kitchen doors open. For the deep voice he carries, his looks don’t match like you would imagine. Standing around 5’7”, thin, but strong. An apron wrapped loosely around his waist covering his cargo shorts.

“Hi, yes, I’m Ari,” reaching my hand out for a formal introduction.

“Ari, pleasure to meet you. I’m Hector, the owner, we don’t open for another half hour.”

“Oh no no, I’m not here to dine, although I wouldn’t mind because it smells amazing. I’m looking for a job. A friend,” pausing myself because friend is extremely exaggerated, but I need the work, “Jill sent me here. Said you were hiring.”

“Jill? Jill who?” Hector asks, placing his hands on both sides of his hips.  

Shit. Already caught in a lie. Think, think, think!

“Oh you know Jill.” Playing it as cool as I can, recalling as many details from our two minute interaction, “Has a son, around 2, they come here a few times a week. Blonde, cute, great smile.”

“Jill Maverick? Oh yeah, great family,” loosening up his arms, “Follow me, let’s chat.”

He starts walking through the restaurant placing napkins on each table and asking me questions about my experience, where I’m from, and why I moved. I should really down a better elevator pitch for those questions because it’s the first thing out of everyone’s mouth when they meet me. 

“Well, Ari, you got it. When can you start?”

“As soon as you need me to.”

“Great, see you tonight. 4 o’clock sharp.”

We shake hands one more time. This is my first brick. Laying foundation in a new place, on my own. 

*****

Since it’s a night shift, I decide to Uber my way to work. As much as I love a night bike ride, I’m still new to these streets, and I don’t want any added stress on night one. 

I find myself biting my nails in the back of the Uber. A habit I really should quit, but it becomes more frequent in moments I’m most nervous. We pass downtown going from East to 12 South and I imagine what that skyline looks like at night. One building sticks out, looking like Batman’s ears on his mask. Such an unusual structure, but I love it. Drinking in every detail and quirk this new city has to offer me.

“Going to Mafs tonight? I love that place,” my Uber driver makes conversation with me. 

“Yeah. Working there actually. First night,” quickly realizing I probably shouldn’t share any more personal information after that.

“Oh you will love it. The best staff, fun environment, always busy.”

Everyone finds this staff so charming, so great. But earlier it was a ghost town when I showed up, and Hector sounded desperate to get me in and helping as soon as possible. 

What staff are they referring to?

*****

The driver wasn’t joking. I had about 20 minutes to train and learn, and Hector threw me into the mix fast. Which I appreciate. I thrive in the busy. I’m good at hustling, managing multiple orders and keeping spirits high throughout the night. Standing still is never enjoyable. 

I’m happy I took a chance and listened to Jill because this neighborhood breeds the most salt of the earth humans. With every table comes a warm greeting from each person. 

“You weren’t lying about that experience,” Hector meets me behind the counter as I fill drink orders for a table of 8, “It’s rare to find someone who can confidently carry out that many drinks on their first night at a restaurant.”

“Oh yeah,” organizing each flavor in order of their seating arrangement making it easier to distribute out, “I love serving others. It brings me joy.”

“I feel that. That’s why I opened up this place, even when I had absolutely nothing.”

“Really? Wow, I don’t know if I could take a chance on myself like that--”

“You already did, Ari.”

“Huh? How?”

“By moving here. Takes guts to start new,” he gives me a warm grin and quickly follows, “Now table 16 is waiting on those drinks and Stephanie just sat another party of 10 for you, can you handle it?”

“In my sleep, Hector,” I say as I brush by him with the tray of drinks on my right palm. As I go to round the bar, I see the same man from the coffee shop this morning with an apron wrapped around him heading back to the kitchen. He works here? 

“Hey Hector,” I turned back around with the drink tray still in tow, “who is that man with the dreads?”

“Oh, that’s Kevin. Or Kev. Head chef. Have you two not met yet? I’ll introduce you later. Great guy, our customers love him.”

Before Kevin pushes the kitchen doors back, he glances over at me and our eyes lock again. At that moment, the busy restaurant stands still. 

*****

The dinner rush is finally subsiding, and it’s slowly dripping in college students grabbing food who are either fueling before their night out or already so drunk from their day long bender. I look down and it’s already been five hours. Before I tackle the college rush, I ask Hector for a quick break to grab some fresh air.

One thing I’ve always enjoyed about the service industry are the smoke breaks. People can judge all you want, but a quick puff and chatting with people behind the restaurant is so soothing. The realest people and sweetest friends I made back home were during these chats. You’ve been hustling for hours, and finally get a moment to breathe. Everyone is on the same wavelength, catching up, gossiping a little about a difficult customer or the high school dishwasher they just hired for the summer. It’s great. 

With all the adrenaline I have, I shove the back door wide open and inhale the outdoor air. Which always comes with a fresh whiff of cigarette smoke. As I look over to my right, I spot the wildly interesting man, sitting on stacked drink cartons. He’s alone and not sitting on his phone. Just staring up at the sky as if he’s pondering something deep and philosophical about life. His dreads almost reaching the ground.

“Hey, you’re Kevin,” the words just come out of my mouth before I can even stop myself.

“Indeed I am. And you?”

“Ari.”

He lets my name sit with him for a second as we hold our gaze on one another. 

“Would you like to join me, Ari?” He slides over a carton for me to sit on. His words are soft and steady. “Do you smoke?”

“Sometimes.”

He hands over the cigarette and I take it. I know this gesture well. It’s the first sign of friendship in the service industry. Letting the nicotine consume my whole body, then finally letting out a deep breath. My body is riding such a high finding this spot so soon after my move. I don’t want it to end.

“You’re good out there,” Kevin breaks our silence. 

“Ha, thanks. It’s not my first rodeo,” and immediately bring my palm to my forehead wishing I didn’t just say the cheesiest phrase possible, “That was bad. I’m not a country girl. I’ve never said that before. What I meant was that I’ve worked many restaurant jobs - I love it.”

He looks over me as I babble on trying to explain myself, and a smile finally breaks out on his end. 

“Cool dreads,” I continue on in his silence. 

“Thanks,” he says, starting to stand up, “They’re not my first rodeo either.”

Thankful it’s dark out, because my body heats up faster than it did on my bike ride this morning. I watch him walk back to the door to go back to work. No, don’t go back yet, I want to yell out. There is so much more I want, no need, to know about the man with dreads down to his ass. But I don’t. Instead I remain silent.

“You working tomorrow?” He stops as soon as he opens the door, letting the kitchen light hit him.

“I think so.”

“Let’s have drinks after work.”

Before I can agree or respond, he’s walking inside.

*****

Today I walk into Mafs with an extra spritz of perfume and a few more minutes spent on my makeup. I spent all morning thinking about what Kevin and I would talk about. He was so outgoing in the kitchen and with customers, but he felt silent last night. No, not just felt, he was fairly quiet. And I babbled. 

This morning, I thought about some questions I could ask him to ensure I’m not talking too much, and I can uncover the stories that lie behind those heavy dreads of his. And whatever other wild hairdos he has had. Surely this man has lived many lives.

As soon as I walk into Mafs, I see him in the kitchen window, and notice he’s wearing a different bandana today. Bright yellow. I can’t help but wonder how many he has. And how the heck he holds back the dreads in a hair tie. Does it just wrap around once? 

We exchange distant smiles quickly before Hector pulls me in to pick up a few tables he’s already fallen behind on. How long does he work? I mean if he’s here before me, and getting off when I do, how does he do it? My feet were reminded of the strain and work it takes to be on your feet all day after yesterday’s shift. 

The customers are even better today. Tips are generous and I finally sampled some of the pizza from the kitchen. Hector told me he doesn’t just like to hire people who know of his menu, but people who have experienced it. Food is everything to him. Clearly. And he takes great care of his kitchen staff. 

Happy staff, good food. Good food, happy customers. Happy customers, more money. That was his motto.

Kevin and I didn’t cross paths on our break, just subtle glances each time I grabbed a tray of food. 

10 o’clock rolled around and Hector told me I could start cashing out my tips and shutting down. I stood at the register going through each receipt, thankful for every dollar and how fast I was able to find a job. And a job with a manager like Hector. 

From the corner of my eye I could see Kevin leaning against the open door that separated the kitchen and bar. Doing my best to not look over, I laser my eyes on the screen in front of me, but his eyes remain watching me carefully. I feel it. Deep breaths through my nose. This should freak me out, but ever since I saw him in Frothy the other day, I’m drawn to his peculiar ways. He doesn’t fit the cookie cutter look the rest of the folks here have, but he offers the same gentleness. 

“Almost done?” he asks me as soon as I turn and clock out from the screen. 

“Just finished,” untying my apron.

“Good,” he turns to the Roman at the bar, “Rom, two Froggys.”

“Froggys?” I ask, “What am I getting myself into?”

“Trust me, you’ll like it,” shooting a quick wink as he grabs the drinks and leads us to the front patio. We’ve closed down outdoor seating, but he heads out there like he doesn’t need permission. Not that I think Hector would mind, but still, I try to follow the rules at least within my first few days of work. Thankfully the evening has cooled down, and the street is much quieter. It’s a nightly tourist spot, so after 9, you seem to just have locals lingering. 

“Cheers to starting at Mafs!” He holds his drink up to mine and our glasses clink perfectly.

I spill a little out of my glass, thanks to Roman having a heavy hand. 

“Sorry, I’m such a clutz. So embarr--” I begin.

“Why? Don’t be. It’s just a drink. Plus we both know your clothes after a shift at a restaurant are done for,” he assures me, “So, let’s hear it.”

“Hear what?” I ask while wiping down the little spill in front of us.

“Your story.”

“My story?” I look at him a bit thrown off, usually people probe with a few specific questions first. “My story as in why I moved here? Well I was living in a small town a little upstate New York, not too far from the city--”

“No no,” Kevin cuts me off, but with softness, somehow managing to once again make something wrong feel ok. “Tell me your story. Why you are, you. What you like, what makes up, Ari.”

The story I was ready to share about why I moved suddenly doesn’t feel like enough. I’m unprepared. I envisioned using my questions I planned from this morning. This is our first time sitting down to chat and I hardly know anything about him except that he has the coolest, longest dreads, countless bandanas, and people seem to love him. 

My previous relationships have always started off with intense flirting from the guy. Not actually sitting me down, getting to know me.

“I - I don’t know what - where to start,” I say and take a sip of my drink. 

“Wherever you want to start,” he’s sitting across from me to casual, arms crossed, never losing eye contact. I can’t tell if this is genuine or a tactic. He can sense my hesitancy, “Here, let me start.”

The vulnerability is beautiful. He opens up, almost as if he carves his heart out of him and stitches it on his sleeve himself. Gently speaking about himself and even those who have wronged him growing up, but grateful for every twist and turn to get him exactly to this moment in time. How he speaks so calmly about his past, his story, is inspiring. 

“Kevin, I don’t have any words. I’m so -- so sorry, you dealt with all of that.”

“Hey, we don’t get to choose the cards we’re dealt, but we do get to decide how we play them,” he takes another large sip from his drink, almost emptying the glass, “Alright, I’m going to have Rom top us off, then it's your turn.”

He gets up and his dreads slowly sway from left to right as he makes his way back inside. I look around and soak in the humid night. Warm enough to keep you comfortable without a jacket, but hot enough to make any sort of awkwardness feel like you’re sitting in a furnace. Which is exactly how my body feels. Hot, yet comfortable. Like I’m taking another leap of faith, and it feels terrifying, but something in the air assures me it will be rewarding.

While I wait, recalling the events he just shared, I start picking my nails. 

“You ok?” Kevin returns, stealing my attention from my chipped manicure back to his kind eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, thank you,” I raise the new full glass up to him.

He sits there patiently waiting for me to start. It’s an invite to start talking. I hardly know this man, yet at the same time I’m dying to tell him everything about me. To feel seen, wanted, and longed for. Sentiments I haven’t felt in forever.

“Well, I was living in a small town upstate New York. Everyone seemed to do the same thing. It was one morning, I had run to the grocery store to pick up a few things for the week ahead and the cashier, who was also a former classmate of mine, asked me if I was going to start working at the same office my mom did for 30 years straight. Then the woman behind me, eavesdropping, and was everyone’s 3rd grade teacher, chimes in about what I should do next. A town of 5,000 people, and everyone had a pulse on each other. You didn’t have to air your dirty laundry, it found a way into the public eye on its own. I got into my car that day and decided if I didn’t move then, I might not ever get out.”

Flakes of chipped nail polish have piled up beneath my hands and I see that I only have one nail to go. 

“Do you believe good things come in 3s?” Kevin responds.

“What?” surprised by his question. I thought he might ask more about my story. People ask where my dad was in all of this, or what guy broke my heart. Digging until they find out why I really felt broken.

“I believe good things come in 3s,” he says, “Big or small. Sometimes it’s measured within one day or a week, other times it’s within a decade.”

“Oh, well, maybe. I suppose I’ve never measured or kept track in that way.”

“That day I saw you at Frothy was a day of 3s for me.”

I swallow every molecule and remainder of air in my throat. He saw me, he noticed me too. 

“That morning I found out a good friend of mine got signed by their dream record label in Nashville. Then on the way to the coffee shop, I got a call that my cousin’s cancer had been cleared. And I had a feeling walking into the shop, there was going to be a magical third occurrence. Then I saw you, and there was an energy drawing me to you.”

I wasn’t alone in that coffee shop. Our energies matched, aligned, we were both brought there to see one another. 

“I -- I felt that too.”

“And that was my 3rd good thing. Then you came into Mafs, and I just knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Something incredible was designed for the two of us.”

“Ok, now you really have to stop, I can’t take this much goodness at once.”

“Alright alright,” he lets out a laugh, recognizing his own cheesy romance, “What do you want to know about me.”

“The dreads. I need the story of when they started. Why? And how many bandanas do you own?”

“Dreads started ten years ago, part of my rebellion phase to the world, mixed with a yogi era I was entering.”

“And the bandanas?” I continued.

He finishes the rest of his glass. “Well, I could tell you, or I could show you,” he pauses looking straight into my eyes, intently, “What do you have planned for tonight?”

“Nothing as exciting as counting bandanas.”

We both share a nervous laugh, and Kevin grabs our glasses to take inside. When he comes out, he grabs my hand and leads me to his car. 

*****

Growing up I saw lots of people have one night stands. Sleeping with the latest hot shot at our high school, only to sleep with their best friend the next week ,and pass each other around like a cigarette in the 60s.

I swore to myself I would never spend the night with a guy on a first date. But it wasn’t a first date with Kevin. First dates feel like 21 questions, trying to get to know a stranger. That wasn’t the deal with Kev. My soul has known him forever, and that night was the first time we finally got to see the beauty behind these mystical feelings that the universe brought us. 

My hands are intertwined into his as we drive into work together.

It’s been 3o days and we haven’t spent a night apart since our first shared Froggys at Mafs. A feeling was pulling me towards Nashville. Although terrified out of my mind, I was ready for the new beginning ahead, but this is all more than I could have imagined. Kev is far beyond what my heart or mind could ever map out for myself. His tenderness has made this new city feel like home. His arms are warm and safe. His presence isn’t suffocating, but freeing. My ideas aren’t challenged, they’re respected. I didn’t think it could be possible to have a man who wants to protect me at all costs, yet sees me as an equal. My past had shown me that it was one or the other, never both. 

Not for Kev though. He’s made it clear we are equals. What I bring to the table is just as important and valuable as anything he has to offer. My past, my childhood, isn’t a storyline to run from, but a foundational piece of what makes me who I am. He always says, “Our past doesn’t have to define us, but it does shape us. You have the power, Ari, to choose that shape, that’s your power to claim. No one else.”

When we park, I unbuckle first and get ready to step out. I told him I don’t like or need everyone in my business, and dating a coworker in the service industry is such a cliche. Although I think Kev and I are far from a cliche, I wanted more time before I shared my life with Hector or others. 

“Ari,” Kev stops me before leaning out, “You are incredible. I’m so happy the universe brought us together. I feel like a fool, a child again, with how giddy I feel.”

“Me too, Kev,” I turn back and kiss him once more before our shifts, “Me too. See you in there, chef.”

As hard as I try, I can’t hold back the smile permanently pasted on my face. I walk in, wash my hands, tie the apron tightly around my waist and start prepping the tables for guests with napkins and silverware.

“Hey Hector!” I cheerfully call out when I sense Hector walking behind me also prepping the restaurant.

“Ari,” he stops in his tracks and looks over at me, “Stop torturing the guy, just let him walk in with you already.”

Shaking my head trying to look as confused as I possibly can, “What? What are you--”

“Please. I’ve worked with Kev for many many years. That man couldn’t hide that he was in love even if he tried.”

“Hector, it’s not that--”

“Look,” he cuts me off, but with a smile, which is far and few inbetween with Hector during working hours, “I would trust Kev with my life. The night I saw you two together, I knew he wasn’t going to let you out of his sight. And that man watches you with careful, loving eyes as you serve our customers. Your secret is safe with me, but the way that man is beaming at even the scent of you, the secret isn’t very well secretive.”

I bite my lips inward, trying my best to not blush. Both Hector and I give understanding nods to each other and keep working, welcoming in our lunch rush. 

*****

Today’s double shift thankfully flies by and I sit outside waiting for Kevin to wrap up kitchen duties. He walks out holding a pizza box.

“Yay! Dinner? What’d you craft for us tonight?” clapping my hands together, partly because I’m starving but also because Kevin is a true wizard in the kitchen and his food is the best. 

“Just a plain pepperoni,” he says as I open the box and see the shape of a heart. 

“Aw, I love it,” giving him a kiss right in front of Mafs for the first time ever.

“Whoa, I wasn’t expecting that on work turf.”

“I don’t want to hide it anymore,” I say, resting my chin up against his chest.

“Bout time, lady,” he squeezes me in for a hug a bit tighter, “I could marry you right now, you know that?”

“Oh shut up,” I laugh because that has to be a joke, right? It’s only been a month. I mean we have lived and breathed every part of one another the past 30 days, and I ache at the pain of thinking about him not being next to me one night. But marriage? That’s a whole other layer. 

The pizza warms my legs during our ride home, and as much as I crave a slice of my pepperoni heart pizza, what I really want is a shower.

We walk into my place and I immediately strip down every layer on my body, making a clear trail to the shower. Standing underneath the warm water, I allow the water to rinse me off as I tilt my head back recapping how Hector spoke about Kevin. In the background, I can hear Kev turn on music in the living room. I massage the soap softly through my scalp and wash away the makeup from my face. Coming out of the bathroom completely refreshed, bare, and in my comfiest lounge set. 

“Alright, I’m really ready to grub now. Shower is all yours,” I say to Kevin, pulling the plate and glass of wine he’s set out for me, closer.

“Ari, I was serious earlier,” he’s leaning against the counter. Palms firmly pressed into white tiles.

I bring the slice back down from my mouth to the plate, “About what?”

“I would marry you right now.”

“Kev--”

“Ari, I’m very sure of myself, what I want and need. I’ve always trusted the world would make it clear when the right person came into my life, and since the day I met you, I’ve never once doubted that you were my wife.”

This is crazy, right? Get married? 

“I’m going to shower, but I had to tell you how I feel.”

I sit there, speechless, and suddenly my appetite is lost from the shock.

*****

The next morning I wake up to the smell of fresh coffee and I hear Kevin in the kitchen clearing the dishwasher. As I lie there, I question myself. I love Kevin. That magnetic pull we have to one another is electrifying, but get married? Is that in the cards for me? All the fancy stuff, the paperwork, the planning, people’s involvement, and opinions. Marriage felt like the beginning of an end growing up. It resulted in bad things. There was a loss of excitement and life in a person’s soul the moment they said “I Do” after 12 months of stressful planning and $30k later for a one night party.

I want Kevin for the rest of my life, but not like that. My marriage would be the beginning of a new, endless spark. Not the end of a match. A spark starting off a wildfire. 

“Good morning baby,” he greets me at my bedroom door with coffee. My man. 

“I love you,” I say, grabbing the mug from him and sitting up in my bed. I blow on the coffee to cool it off before I take a sip and watch as the steam rises.

“I love you too,” he sits on the bed and pushes my hair behind my ear, “I never knew it was possible for someone to wake up this beautiful.”

The words left my mouth in that moment before I could stop them, almost as if I no longer have control or autonomy over myself, “My answer is yes.”

“Wait, yes to what?” he starts to smile.

“Exactly what you’re thinking.”

“Oh baby, I’m so happy!” He leans in to kiss me.

“But I don’t want the whole show and dance.”

Kevin’s hands find my knees, as I sit criss crossed in front of him with the warm coffee in my hands. He rubs his thumbs along my skin, patiently waiting for me to continue, to express myself as he always does. Since the first night we met, he has had a natural sense of when I’m not done talking and when there is more to share. 

“The whole idea of having to involve the government, spend all this money, the stress of planning,” I continue on, “It feels as if it's an obstacle to us starting our life together today. So let’s make it special, our marriage is just us. Our souls, our words, our own meaning.”

His hand gently touches my cheek and pulls me in until our foreheads meet. Everything in this moment confirms my decision. Our souls, matched energies, release from our hearts and intertwine in the space left between our chests. 

“Good thing we have today off,” he whispers without either of us moving an inch, “I know exactly where I want to marry you.”

*****

We pull up to a field thirty minutes outside of the city. The sun has set, and it’s getting darker by the second. 

Kevin parks the car and rushes to my side to let me out. Although it was a very anti-traditional wedding, I did opt for a maxi length white dress. My mom purchased it with me a year ago. We were having a rare girls day, something that neither of us hardly found the time for, and this dress laid beautifully on the mannequin in a boutique down main street. She insisted I go in and try it on. I refused and stomped my feet as if we were back to the roles of mother and daughter when I was five. 

“Honey, trust me. Every woman needs a staple white dress in their closet. Come on, my treat. Just give it a shot.”

When I walked out of the fitting room, she nearly teared up. I wasn’t normally one to wear a dress. Vans, denim and a flannel were my style. She wanted the prim and proper Barbie doll daughter, but that never was me. However, that day I let her think I was. And now wearing it with Kevin, feels like I have a piece of her with me. 

“My goodness you are a vision,” he holds my hand as we walk out into the field. He stops along the way and picks up a wildflower then softly tucks it behind my ear, “My bride.”

We make it a good 50 yards out from the car and we’ve lost all light from the sun. Only to be replaced by the moon and stars. Kevin pulls me to face him. He’s in white button down, slacks and trimmed beard and all. Except no bandana. Which he told me to not get used to and only happens on special occasions. He’s handsome, he’s confident, he’s mine forever.

In the middle of a field we exchange our vows. Promise ourselves to one another for the rest of our lives and beyond.

“From this day forward, Ari, you will always have me, all of me. My energy, my soul, every part of my being belongs to you. And I vow to protect you and yours with all my might. From now til death and anything beyond.”

“Kev, I felt an undeniable pull to move here. I thought it was a fresh start, a new beginning. I never knew it would involve you. Since the day our eyes met, a new life has been breathed into me. All of me is forever yours.”

We go back and forth, expressing our deep love and admiration for one another underneath the clear, beautiful night sky. Kev is a genius for doing this at night. It’s magical. Quiet. Absolutely serene. Intimate and privately our own moment. 

Kevin clears his throat, half-jokingly, “You may now kiss your bride,” using his clenched fist as a microphone.

Right then and there, under the southern sky, in the middle of a field, my heart is stolen and protected forever by sweet Kevin. He dips me back, catching me by surprise, and we laugh until we cry. 

Love has always come at a cost, until now. It came with stakes, conditions, relentless turmoil and hurt. I thought I had an idea of what it should look like, but Kevin has shown me what it feels like. It’s more than a piece of paper, traditions and routines. Our connection is magnetic and I now understand why my heart was pulling me to Nashville.

It was time for me to meet my soulmate. 

*****

The Couple’s Sip of choice: Froggys

Whiskey and a Splash of Coke are the only ingredients needed for Froggys, and quality time is the only ingredient needed for Ari & Kevin. The two of them explored the storylines of one another that first night at Mafs over a few “Froggys” and the rest was history. When they aren’t serving others, the two of them truly enjoy one another’s company. Ari lit up when she shared their favorite hobbies together consisted of walking and talking, that she could spend every moment with him and never grow tired of Kevin. They have been together for four years now and every day just gets better!

Author’s Note:

I moved to Nashville almost two years ago and the people in the city have welcomed me with open arms. But more importantly, the kind, warm souls who work on 12 South have taken me in as their own. If you follow me, you know I love Bartaco. They serve up the best spicy margs. As a result of *weekly* visits, I have come to know and love the staff there dearly. That’s where I met Ari. She listened to my story, why I moved and was a supporter of my book, Unveiling Alice. Ari is gentle, loving and exudes compassion. It wasn’t just that she took an interest in my story for the gossip, but she truly took an interest in understanding my emotions, my growth and how I got to be where I am. One day we were catching up and I was sharing the blog with her - that’s when she started talking about Kev. I was hooked. Married in a month? Screw the government paperwork? Sign this broken engagement girl UP! 

Guests were filing in at the bar so Ari was running back and forth between me and shaking up their cocktails. I pulled out my phone and took notes. The way she spoke about Kevin was admirable, not just her love for him, but how much she appreciated the man he was. “He truly sees us as equals,” she mentioned. I was inspired. Kevin is known for dreads and their love started on 12 South. I am honored to share their story and for friends like Ari who have helped make Nashville feel like home.