Wallbanger(46)

where the strains of Miles Davis came through.

I lay back down, skin tingling as I tried to find a cool spot on my pil ow. I thought about what was on the other side of that wal , inches away. I

was in trouble.

Later that morning I sat at my desk getting ready to meet a new client—one who’d specifical y requested to work with me. Stil a new designer,

much of my work came from referrals, and whoever had referred this guy to me I owed big time. Al new interiors for some fancy apartment—it was

practical y a gut remodel, a dream project. Whenever I prepped for a new client I pul ed pictures from other projects I’d designed and had

sketchbooks ready, but today I did it with particular intensity. If I let my mind wander for a second, Brain immediately returned to the dream I’d had

last night. I blushed every time I thought of what I’d let Dream Simon do to me, and what Dream Caroline had done to him as wel …

Dream Caroline and Dream Simon were some naughty kids.

“Ahem,” I heard from behind me. I turned to find Ashley in the doorway. “Caroline, Mr. Brown is here.”

“Excel ent, I’l be right out.” I nodded, standing and smoothing my skirt. My hands pressed my cheeks, hoping they were not too red.

“And he is cute, cute, cute!” she murmured as she walked beside me down the hal .

“Oh, real y? Must be my lucky day.” I laughed, rounding the corner to greet him.

He certainly was cute, and I would know. He was my ex-boyfriend.

“Oh, my God! What are the chances?” Jil ian exclaimed at lunch, two hours later.

“Wel , considering my entire life now seems ruled by odd coincidences, I figure it’s right on track.” I broke off a piece of flatbread and chewed

determinedly.



“But I mean, come on! What are the chances, real y?” she wondered again, pouring us another glass of Pel egrino.

“Oh, there’s nothing chance about this. This guy doesn’t leave things to chance. He knew exactly what he was doing when he approached you

at that benefit last month.”

“No,” she breathed.

“Yep. He told me. He saw me, and when he found out I worked for you? Bam! He needs an interior designer.” I smiled, thinking of how he’d

always arranged things exactly the way he wanted them. Wel , almost everything.

“Don’t worry, Caroline. I’l move him over to another designer, or I’l even take him myself. You don’t have to work with him,” she said, patting my

hand.

“Oh, hel no! I already told him yes. I’m total y doing this.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep. No problem. It wasn’t that we had a bad breakup. In fact, as far as breakups go, it was mild. He didn’t want to accept the fact that I was

leaving him, but eventual y he came around. He didn’t think I had the bal s to do it, and boy, was he surprised.” I played with my napkin.

I’d dated James most of my senior year at Berkeley. He was already in law school, steadily moving through it on his way to a future of

perfection. My goodness, he was beautiful—strong and handsome, and very charming. We met at the library one night, had coffee a few times, and

it grew into a solid relationship.

The sex? Unreal.

He was my first serious boyfriend, and I knew he wanted to marry me at some point. He had very specific ideas about what he wanted from his

life, and that definitely included me as his wife. And he was everything I’d ever thought I wanted in a husband. Engagement was inevitable. But then

I began to notice things, smal at first, but over time they revealed the big picture. We went where he wanted to for dinner. I never got to pick. I

overheard him tel ing someone that he figured my “decorating” phase wouldn’t last long, but it’d be nice to have a wife who could make a pretty

home. The sex was stil great, but I was irritated with him more and more, and I stopped going along to get along.

When I began to realize he was no longer what I wanted for my future, things got a little strained. We fought constantly, and when I decided to

end the relationship, he tried to convince me I was making the wrong choice. I knew better, and he final y accepted that I was real y done—and not

just pitching a “feminine fit,” as he liked to cal them. We didn’t keep in contact, but he’d been a major part of my life for a long time, and I cherished

the memories we had together. I cherished what he’d taught me about myself.

Just because we didn’t work out as a couple didn’t mean we couldn’t work together, right?

“You sure about this? You real y want to work with him?” Jil ian asked one more time, but I could tel she was ready to let it go.