Only in Dreams(17)

“Seriously, you’re very gifted.”

He clears his throat, my compliment making him uncomfortable. The Christian I knew was confident to the point of arrogance. The man that stands before me has a sense of humbleness about him. “Thanks, I enjoy it. And I get to be here and watch Olivia grow up.”

“She’s amazing,” I say, walking over and remembering my tea, which has now shifted to a muddy coloring. Pulling out the bag and placing it on the nearby saucer, I drop in the sugar cube that was waiting on the plate. I can’t believe I’d been nervous to see Christian. It feels completely normal to be around him. There is none of the intensity or tension I’d worried about.

“Let’s go to dinner,” he suggests.

My body jolts; perhaps I am wrong. There is nothing normal about him asking me out to dinner. How could I be so stupid? Of course, leave it up to Christian to assume he could just charm his way back into my life, even after knowing I’m engaged to someone else. Maybe he hasn’t changed that much.

“Um, yeah, so that’s not going to happen,” I answer, not shielding the disgust.

“Why not? We have years to catch up on.”

“Because, I’m engaged or did that slip your mind?”

“Wow.” Christian laughs. “I see you’re also still very sure of yourself.”

“Excuse me?” I bark at him.

“It’s all right, I always liked your confidence.” he says, waving his hands in the air defensively.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean—well—you’re the one who asked me to dinner. I don’t think that means I’m full of myself.”

“I asked an old friend to dinner. It’s not like it is a date or something.”

“Yeah right,” I scoff, squinting at him, before sipping my over-steeped and bitter tea.

“Oh, now I get it,” Christian says, nodding.

I furrow my brow. “Now you get what?”

“You’re scared to go to dinner with me.”

“What?”

“You are!” he exclaims. “You’re scared it might stir some of those old feelings.”

“What? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“All right then, so you’ll go to dinner with me? I’ll pick you up tonight at eight,” he adds, not waiting for me to answer before setting the time.

“No!” I gasp, unsure how the conversation slipped away from me so quickly. “I’m not sixteen anymore. I know when you’re manipulating me.”

Christian flashes that slightly crooked smile at me. That damn cavernous dimple of his is staring at me. I can’t look away, so I just make myself look annoyed. He walks up, leaning onto the counter, so he’s only inches away from me now. He smells like cedar chips, and I feel my knees begin to buckle under me. I grab the counter top to steady myself.

“No manipulation, I really just want to have dinner with one of my oldest friends. You can even talk about Henry all night if you want,” he offers before standing upright.

“Fine, I just might.” Yup, I sound like a moron.

“Great, see you tonight at eight,” he says, spinning around and exiting the shop. The bell dings before I can say another word.

Then I’m alone, still gripping the counter, and wondering what on Earth just happened.





I LOOK AT myself in the mirror, the third outfit I’ve tried staring back at me. The first one was far too sexy for a friends-only dinner, the second one looked like I should be painting a room in it, and now there is this one. I’m pretty sure it is stylish while still saying, ‘This is not a date, so please don’t get the wrong idea.’ Though Christian had made it quite clear this was not a date already.

When Henry called earlier and asked what I had been up to, I considered telling him about the dinner. I then reconsidered, because, after all, it isn’t a date. If it is just dinner with an old friend, then it shouldn’t be that big of a deal, and why even bother telling him. At least that’s how I justified it in my head.

Flattening out the ruffles on the dress, I marvel at one of my creations. It is a veritable fountain of lace and frills, from the handmade appliqué on the form-fitting bodice, to the cascading layers of chiffon cream and cocoa colored ruffles on the skirt, stopping just above the knee. It’s young and flirty without being inappropriate for the purpose of the evening. Considering I’m in Texas, I only think it proper to pair it with my favorite pair of Frye cowboy boots, which come midway up my shin. I look pretty darn adorable if I do say so myself.

“Paige,” I hear with a knock at my door, my heart jumping a little. “It’s me, Emmie, can I come in?”