Only in Dreams(18)
I turn to face her as she enters. “Sure.”
“Wow, I love that dress. Is that an original Paige design?”
“It is,” I reply, spinning around, showing off the details.
“Oh my God, you have to make me something,” Emmie begs, rushing in and rubbing the ruffles between her fingertips.
“Hey, I made your wedding dress!” I remind her.
“Trust me, I remember, it’s my favorite piece of clothing I own, but I think people might begin to wonder if I’m crazy if I wear it around the shop all day.”
“Artists are eccentric, right?”
“Very true, so maybe I could get away with it.” We both burst out laughing and take a seat on the bed.
“So what’s up?” I inquire.
“Christian told Colin to have you meet him at his studio at eight instead,” Emmie says hesitantly.
“Oh … all right,” I reply, trying not to make it sound like a big deal.
“Well?” she pushes. It is clear she isn’t going to fold easily.
“Well what?” I continue to play dumb.
“I came back from Olivia’s doctor appointment and you said nothing happened. Clearly that wasn’t true.”
“Oh, Christian, that’s nothing,” I insist.
“Nothing? You look amazing, your fiancé is in New York, and you’re supposed to meet up in a few minutes with the only guy who ever broke your heart? That’s not nothing.”
“Emmie,” I say, grasping her hands. “Really, I promise, it’s nothing. If it were something, don’t you think I would have told you?”
“No, I don’t think you would have said a word either way. That’s how you work.”
I laugh. “You do know me too well. But I swear, it’s nothing.”
“Nope, no way—that’s not going to work for me. Spill it, what’s going on?”
“Honestly,” I begin. “I have no clue. It all happened so fast. He came by the gallery this afternoon to deliver a package to me.”
“A package, huh?” she interjects with a sly grin.
“You’ve been down here with the Bennett boys too long,” I remark.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. Go on, what happened next?”
“We got to talking and before I knew it, I’d agreed to a friends dinner. Whatever the hell that means.”
“I don’t know, sweetie, do you think it’s a good idea?” Emmie asks, her voice heavy with concern.
“No! I think it’s a terrible idea. But before I could change my mind, he was gone. And now, if I don’t show, he’ll make it into a big deal, I’m sure, and say I’m not over him,” I argue.
“Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Over him?”
I look at her in shock. “Of course I am. How could you ask that? I love Henry.”
“I know you do,” she confirms.
“Then why do I always feel like I have to convince you of that?”
“It’s not whether you love Henry that worries me. It’s how much you loved Christian.”
“Loved. That’s in the past. I don’t love him any more,” I reply firmly.
“Okay,” she relents. “I’m sorry. If you say you’re over him, then I’m sure you are.”
I stand, straightening out my dress and quickly glance in the mirror to fix my hair, but not too much as to make it look like I care. “I’ll see you later.”
“Have fun.”
“I doubt I will,” I say and head out the door and down the wooden stairwell, my boots clicking as they hit. The gallery is closed, and I have to exit out of the rear door, which is the one they use for their residence. The wood studio was only just off to the side of that.
I push open the door that has a note with a phone number printed on it advising visitors to call for an appointment. The room is lit in soft, yellowy light. Immediately, the wood smell hits me—intoxicating. The room is set up like a showroom floor. A rustic looking dining room table and chairs are front and center, and an ornate, hand-carved rocking chair is in the far corner. I even see a pair of wooden skis hanging on the wall, and I laugh, imagining someone on skis in the desert terrain.
“I’m back here,” I hear Christian’s voice call from an open door at the back of the room.
I walk across the pine floor, noticing all of the knotting and patterns as I move. Even the floor is a work of art.
“Oh my God,” I say as I approach. “This place is amazing.”
Moving into the open doorway, I see Christian standing there in just a pair of jeans and a face-mask, wood shavings sticking to his sweaty chest. He moves in long strides, rubbing the sanding block up and down on the top of the large flat surface in front of him.