Only In Dreams (Stubborn Love Series) (10 page)

I start laughing so hard I have to clutch my side.

“What?” he moans. “Is it that hard to believe I could be a player.”

“Yes,” I answer. “And I know you hate my friends.”

“I don’t hate them, I just—” Henry pauses—probably trying to think of how to best describe his feelings. “Don’t like them.

“Oh, shut up you big dork,” I say.

“Sorry, but seriously, what’s with the ominous statement? We need to talk? Is everything all right?”

“Oh yeah, everything’s great. But something happened, and I just think you should know.”

The line is silent except for his breathing.

“Henry?” I ask, ensuring he can still hear me.

“I’m here. Just dying to know what this thing is I should know.”

“It’s really not a big deal,” I reassure him, wishing I had approached the subject shift differently.

“So … what’s up?” he asks.

“I found out Christian lives here now,” I say plainly. I close my eyes and hold my breath as I wait for his response.

“With Colin and Emmie?” he inquires, the revelation confusing him.

“Oh no, he lives in his own place next door,” I explain, quickly continuing, deciding I need to alleviate any concern he might have. “I didn’t know he was here when I decided to come. And honestly, it’s not even that big a deal. I saw him last night, and we talked, and most of his questions were about us. He said he wants to be friends and even told me he was happy for us.”

I wait. Hoping. Not sure what for. I just want to hear something. Something that tells me I’m not wrong about it not being a big deal. As the silence grows I begin to doubt my choice. Maybe I should have turned around and gotten on a plane as soon as I saw Christian was here. Have I betrayed Henry?

“Okay,” he says, at last.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, if you say it’s nothing, I trust you.”

“You’re not upset? I can come home if you want me to.”

“Paige, stop,” Henry says in a gentle voice. “I love you. We’re getting married. Christian is part of who you were, not who you are. I’m not worried.”

“I love you, Henry Wallace.”

“And I you, Ms. Parker. Mmm …” he moans.

“What?”

“I’m so excited to make you Mrs. Paige Wallace,” he answers.

My heart aches. He’s the perfect other half for me. Contentment comes with him in a way I haven’t known in my life before.

“Same here.”

“You’re excited to make me Mrs. Paige Wallace?”

“Shut, up, you know what I mean.”

I listen to Henry’s laugh and smile to myself.

“All right beautiful, you have an entire collection to re-work.”

“Oh God, don’t remind me.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

“You better.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

And then I hear the line click. Henry is right; I need to get to work, but first, I need to tell one of the greatest friends a girl could have that I’m sorry.

IT’S AMAZING HOW quickly one can fall into a routine. It’s been nearly a month, and it seems like this day-to-day existence has been my norm for years. I wake up and have breakfast with the Bennetts. Apparently Christian has breakfast with them every morning, but initially kept his distance in order to make sure I was comfortable.

Once I told Henry about Christian being there, any discomfort I had been feeling, disappeared. There was no longer a secret, no longer a reason I should feel like I was betraying my fiancé. I shared my talk with Henry with Emmie, but she didn’t have much to say, and the subject hasn’t seemed to come up again.

Christian still knows how to make everyone laugh. One morning he came in dressed in one-piece, red long underwear, and a pair of cowboy boots. His broad shoulders and lean muscular physique were accentuated in the get up, but even his sexiness couldn’t keep me from busting out in a full belly laugh.

He acted like he couldn't figure out what was so funny. Even Olivia had joined in on the giggle-fest. He played up the antics perfectly, causing squeals to pour from the little girl.

I can only imagine the excitement Emmie must have in her life with the Bennett boys back together. Only yesterday Christian snuck over, adding a healthy dose of pepper to Colin’s eggs. He waited for his brother to dig in. Frustrated when Colin ate everything but the tampered-with eggs, he scooped up a heap of his own eggs and shoved them into his mouth, and then proceeded to spit them out across the room when he discovered Colin had already coated his eggs with a massive amount of salt.

Emmie always pretends to be annoyed, but it is clear she has fallen right into place in her role as Mrs. Bennett. I’m happy for her. The walls she had up when I first met her seem to be completely demolished. This is her family, and it is clear they can’t live without her. I think part of me envies her. I’m not sure exactly why, but there is a familiarity in being back with boys. I know my life is with Henry, and soon we will be starting our own story, but I can’t help feeling like sometimes she stole my identity. I feel terrible for even thinking it.

Once breakfast is over I will spend my morning either sketching or sewing. Tossing out the old drawings and starting from scratch has been the best decision I could have made. Now that I am beginning to see the results there is no doubt in my mind. The ideas are just blowing out of me, sometimes faster than I can record them. All one has to do is look around this sleepy little town to see the effect it’s had on everything from the color palette to the textures of fabric I’ve used.

My work is busting out of the small room I’m staying in. There are stacks of fabric choices all over the kitchen and stock room. I have even taken to storing some of the boxes of supplies in Christian’s back room, which is less than ideal with all of the wood shaving that happens in there.

Once my work filled mornings are done, I help Emmie out in the gallery so that she can make everyone lunch. She spends her mornings painting and her afternoons running the gallery, switching off with Colin who takes care of the massive online orders in the afternoon. We’ve become a well-oiled machine. In the afternoon I manage to squeeze in some more work time before we all knock off early for the evening.

Every night seems to hold a new surprise. A gathering in the town park, dinner at a neighbors, or even neighbors coming over to their house. Everything is so yummy that I have to continually remind myself that I have a wedding dress to fit into.

“What are you up to today?” I hear Christian’s voice over my shoulder.

I don’t turn to look at him; instead, I continue my work with my seam ripper, removing my latest sewing blunder. “What I’m always up to—work.”

He sits across from me at the dining table, watching me. I glance up self-consciously. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“You work too much,” he states with a furrowed brow.

I shake my head then return to the ripping. “Gee, thanks for the observation.”

“No, I just mean that you’ve been working your ass off since you got here. How about you have a little fun,” Christian suggests.

“I’ve been having fun,” I insist.

“I mean more than the Grandma/Grandpa nights Em and Colin plan for you,” he argues, reaching out and placing his hand over my work, gaining my full attention. “Let’s go have some fun.”

“Like what?” I stare at him suspiciously.

“I don’t know, we used to go all day without ever making plans—just seeing where the day would take us.”

I smile as I remember the carefree times of my youth, then shake my head as the reality of the impending deadline jolts me back to reality. “I can’t, I have too much to do.”

He takes the shirt I was working on out of my hands and stands up. “Come on, would it kill you to have a little fun?”

He extends a hand, and I feel my heart start beating hard and fast in my chest. What’s this big deal? It’s just one day. I could use the break.

I jump to my feet and exclaim, “Let’s do it! Are jeans and a t-shirt okay?”

“I hope so, because I’m not changing,” Christian says as he tosses the shirt I’d been working on onto the dining room table and drags me out the back door.

“Wait, shouldn’t we tell Em where we’re going?” I ask with concern.

“Why, do you need permission?” He laughs.

In an instant, the adrenaline kicks in, and I suddenly feel alive. I’ve been going through the motions all month long, surrendering to the routine, and not realizing it is starting to suffocate me. “Hell no, let’s go.”

A few seconds later and we are in the truck, speeding out of the gravel lot.

“So where do you want to go?” he asks me.

“I have no idea, I assumed you had some sort of a plan.”

“Because I’ve always been the guy with a plan, huh?”

“Point taken,” I acknowledge his sarcasm. “So what is there to do around here?”

“How do you feel about a road trip?” he questions, looking at me, his smile revealing his dimple.

“How far are we talking?” I’m suddenly worried about what I have agreed to.

“You okay if we head into the city?”

“Austin?”

“Unless you know of another city I don’t know about,” he fires back.

“You really are charming, aren’t you?” I grumble.

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me.” He smiles slyly.

We make small talk on the drive. He keeps asking me questions about Henry’s upcoming visit. I’m not sure, at first, why he is so curious, but then decide to leave it alone. As we near the city limits I wonder if he has figured out a plan for this late afternoon.”

“Okay, obviously we’re headed somewhere, so where are you taking me?”

“I remembered you loved to dance. Do you still go out dancing a lot?” He answers my question with a question of his own.

“Henry isn’t really into the scene, but I’ll go with my girlfriends sometimes,” I answer, then realize the answer was in his question. “Wait, we’re going dancing? What kind of club is open in the middle of the day?”

He squints his eyes as he thinks about my question. “Well, I’m not really sure if I would call it a club.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think I like the sound of this.”

Christian laughs. “What, don’t you trust me?”

“Not in the least,” I huff, glaring at him suspiciously.

“Ouch, that hurts, it really hurts.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Spill it, where are we going?”

Before he answers, I watch as he pulls onto the exit. I look around for some sign of where we might be headed, when I see a sign that reads Congress Avenue.

“All I ask is you try it, and if you have a horrible time, we’ll go do something else,” Christian offers.

I laugh. “In my experience, when someone offers a disclaimer like that, it usually means I’m going to have a horrible time.”

The truck pulls to one side, and with a hard bump as we hit part of the curb, I see the sign for the business where we parked. “The Two Step,” I read out loud.

He pulls into an open spot and after placing the truck in park and looks over at me with a devilish grin. “I know what you’re thinking,” he says.

“I doubt that.”

“I was the same way when I first tried it, but it’s a lot of fun, I promise.” I stare at him, eyebrows high on my forehead. “Come on, worst case, they have killer mozzarella sticks.”

“Of course they do,” I grumble as I push open the heavy door and make my way out of the truck.

“When did you become such a stick in the mud?” he asks me, and I find the words sting a little.

“I’m not a stick in the mud,” I insist.

“We’ll see,” he taunts, opening the wooden door to the establishment. It doesn’t matter that I know he’s manipulating me, it’s still working.

I look around the place that has a dance floor with a two-story ceiling. Everything is wood, and not in a good way—from the floors to the walls, to the tables and chairs, and let’s not forget the wagon wheel light fixtures hanging from the ceiling.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“All this place needs is a big wooden Indian in the corner, and it would be one for the record books,” I joke.

“There’s one in the back hallway by the bathrooms.”

“Of course there is, how silly of me,” I mutter.

We make our way across the main seating area to the bar, where Christian orders us a couple of beers and asks if we can get some mozzarella sticks. The bartender informs us the kitchen is closed until five, but he’s happy to get us the beers. When he walks away I say, “I thought you were kidding.”

“About what?”

“The cheese sticks.”

“Oh,” he begins, “Heck no. I guess we’ll have to order some when the kitchen opens.”

I sit on the cowhide barstool, another first in my life, and watch the various couples on the dance floor. The size of the crowd surprises me, considering it’s only a quarter past four.

“Did you bring me here to do some line dancing?” I can’t stop myself from laughing as I jokingly ask.

Christian doesn’t answer me right away. He stands, taking a swig of his beer, before slamming it on the counter and grabbing my hand to pull me to the dance floor. “Ever done the two step?”

“No, and I can’t say I’ve ever wanted to,” I yell, as he drags me behind him effortlessly.