“Good for him,” came Will's nonchalant reply, his gaze never straying from the game on TV.
Paige frowned at the shimmery white paper in her hands. Ben had been Will's college roommate and unless she was mistaken, he had only been dating his fiancée about eighteen months.
Eighteen months. Not even two years. She'd been with Will for going on seven years. Sure she'd freaked out a bit about the idea of moving in together, but that had been three years ago. Shortly after the car accident, she and Lauren had given up the lease on their apartment and she had moved into his. Sure, they had their share of arguments over dirty laundry left on the bathroom floor and someone leaving only a few drops of milk left in the carton in the fridge, but they were happy.
“Eighteen months, right?” Paige asked.
“Hmm?” he replied, his eyes still glued to the screen.
Paige sighed and sat up, moving to the center of the couch and leaning against him.
“Ben and his fiancée,” she clarified. “They've been together about eighteen months, right?”
“Huh? I dunno. Something like that.”
Paige foraged on. “That seems like such a short time to be getting married already.”
“I guess.”
“I mean, how long do you think a couple should date before they get married?”
Will glanced at his phone. “Sorry, babe, I'm late.”
“Late for what?”
“Just a guys thing. I must have forgotten to tell you. I'll be back later.” He gave her a peck on the cheek and bolted out the front door.
Paige's heart sank.
What is going on with him? she wondered. He'd been a little short on conversation the last couple of weeks, but never had he walked out in the middle of a conversation with her. This conversation was pretty one sided, she reflected.
Was Will's heart just not in it anymore? Was he delaying the inevitable? A break up?
~ * ~
~ Present Day ~
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped out of her car. The scent of the coffee beans hit her senses and she couldn't help but smile. The scent of coffee always reminded her of Will.
She shut her car door, braced herself, and marched forward to the front door.
Swinging the door open her eyes automatically fell on Will, seated at their usual table in the back with two mugs of coffee before him. He stood upon seeing her and met her halfway to the table.
“You made it,” he said, kissing her softly on the lips before guiding her back to their table.
“Of course I did,” she said as lightly as she could. “Why wouldn't I?”
“Well, you were running even later than usual,” he teased.
She rolled her eyes. All throughout their seven-year relationship Will had teased her about her inability to arrive anywhere on time. When she told him she'd decided she wanted to be a teacher he had laughed, then apologized. When she asked what was so funny he had simply put on his most charming smile and asked, “Can teachers get detention for being tardy?”
“I had to feed the cat,” she stated. That was part of the reason. He didn't need to know she was dragging her feet.
“Ah,” he replied, relaxing back in his seat. “Gemma wouldn't let you out the door.”
“You know how she is. Sweet as can be, but won't let you out the door if her dish isn't full.”
“Well, thanks for not letting our girl starve.”
“I wouldn't dream of it.”
There was an awkward silence.
“Will—” Paige began, just as Will began to speak.
They laughed.
“You go,” Paige said, bracing herself for the inevitable.
“Okay.” Will took a deep breath. “Paige.”
“Yes?” she said meekly.
“I was hoping we could talk about us.”
Here it was. She sucked in a breath, preparing for the blow, and nodded.
“Seven years is a long time to be with one person. I mean, I feel like I've known you my entire life. You're basically my best friend.”
Here it comes. He just wants to be friends.
“Paige,” he continued. He raised his right hand and looked somewhere behind her. Paige glanced around and saw a barista coming to the table with a plate. She set the plate in front of Will, who blocked whatever it was with his hand. That was odd.
“Paige, I don't want to be your boyfriend anymore,” Will said in a rush.
Her heart stopped. She knew this was coming, but she had desperately hoped she was wrong, that he wasn't breaking up with her. But here it was. He didn't want to be her boyfriend anymore.
“What I mean is,” he continued, “Paige...” He pushed the plate toward her. She looked down to see a large blueberry muffin. Stuffed in the middle, sparkling under the dim lighting, was a diamond ring. When she looked back at Will, she found he was down on one knee beside her. “Will you let me be your husband?”
Paige was stunned. Her day had certainly done a one eighty from what she had expected. From thinking he was going to break up with her, to receiving a marriage proposal. Her mouth opened but nothing came out. She blinked rapidly. Her eyes were starting to burn.
“Breathe,” he whispered.
Paige sucked in a deep breath and looked from the muffin to Will and back again.
“This is the part where you say yes,” he said softly.
Paige stared at the slight curvature of his lips as he smiled at her. Yes? Of course she would marry him.
“Paige?” The smile faltered. “Say something?”
Oops. She hadn't said it out loud yet.
“I thought you were breaking up with me!” she blurted. Okay, that hadn't been what she meant to say.
“What?” Will asked, leaning back in surprise, confusion plastered all over his face.
She laughed. “Yes,” she whispered. “Of course, yes.” The burning in her eyes subsided as she felt a tiny droplet of water leak from each eye. She laughed as Will broke into a grin. He reached over and pulled the ring from the muffin. Wiping the crumbs from the band, he gently took her hand. She watched as he slid it onto her left ring finger. It was a little sticky from the blueberry, but she didn't mind.
“For a second there I thought you were going to say no,” he said, the relief evident in his voice.
“I thought so, too,” came a voice from behind her. She spun around to see Will's sister Sara wearing a huge grin, flanked by an equally gleeful Lauren and Rachel.
She turned back to Will who was still kneeling before her, his hand still clasped around hers. He shrugged and said, “I was pretty sure you'd say yes. I didn't want to wait to share the good news.”
Paige leaned forward and kissed her future husband on the lips.
THE END
About the Author
Caroline Andrus was born and raised in the St. Paul suburbs where she lives with her husband, two daughters, and Henry McCoy—her cat, who is actually a wild cougar trapped in a housecat’s body.
She divides her time between writing, Facebook, designing, and managing her household. In her spare time, she enjoys reading, rocking out to the radio, and gardening (but only in the hot summer months.)
She is passionate about both reading and writing teen fiction, and is pretty sure she will forever be eighteen at heart.
Connect with Caroline:
Website: www.CarolineAndrus.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/CarolineAndrusDesigns
Twitter: @FaerieTears
CAPPUCCINO DREAMING
by Louise Redmann
"For my husband, who never stopped believing in me."
I walked up the narrow wooden stairwell of the coffee house, hoping the coffee would kickstart a new life. My old had died in spectacular fashion ten minutes ago. The precariously full cappuccino on the tray threatened to slosh over the side, and I strove to control my trembling hands. Today was an excellent contender for worst day of my life, definitely above being picked on in
school for wearing thick glasses with huge rims or knocking an open bottle of organic cleaner into my boss’s lap.
My boyfriend had booked a table in the Peacock for Saturday night. The Peacock. When he told me, I was so excited. This restaurant was top of my list for romantic dates. Not any more. Lying, faithless...a hundred epithets crowded my mind, but I decided he wasn’t worth the headspace.
A man in a suit rushed down the stairs, as though late for an important meeting. The bag containing my new, expensive black shift swung from my left wrist and unbalanced the tray. I attempted to right it, but instead I stepped on the hem of my skirt and fell up the stairs. The cup clattered to the floor and hot coffee gushed down, drenching my skirt and everyone behind me. Shrieks and curses erupted, depending on whether the drenchee was male or female. I froze in my awkward position on the steps, debating whether to run up and hide in the corner, or down the stairs and out the door.
Laughter burst out from somewhere above my head. Not the unkind laughter that had erupted farther down, but more of a sympathetic amusement, if there is such a thing.
His eyes, brown as the sprinkles on my cappuccino, seemed lit by a soul who had known only joy and laughter. In contrast, my own freshly wounded soul lay exposed, its bleakness mirroring the grey drabness of the wall beside me. I fumbled to put the empty coffee cup back on the tray, grateful when my chestnut hair screened my heated face.
My life with Calum flashed as an ugly truth before me. I had been used and discarded. He would not propose on Saturday night; he was going to break up with me. I blinked hard. How cruel, to be confronted with such a truth while prone on the floor. The muttering on the stairs grew louder.
“Here, grab my hand.”
He was still there, that man who had sliced me open with one smile. I glimpsed another self—one vibrant and exuberant—something I had never been with Calum. I had been more anxious to please than concerned about my own identity. My life with him appeared dull, colorless now, like a watercolour compared to a vivid oil canvas. Who was I?
My heart pounded slowly; its every beat magnified in my ear as it told me what would happen if I touched him. Somehow, I knew my soul, my hitherto dormant soul, would awaken. I didn’t want to feel that power, that connection; yet I craved it, needed it.
I reached out. His hand enclosed mine and heat flowed into me. At his audacious grin, I felt something break up inside me. The crack was loud, like ice in a thaw. I thought he must have heard, since he turned on the stair and surveyed me thoughtfully for what seemed like a minute but must have only been three or four seconds.
He guided me to a seat near the window. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
I dropped my bags on the floor and sank into the faux-leather armchair, studying those around me to see if anyone was pointing and staring, hiding sniggers behind their hands. Now, camouflaged amongst coffee-drinkers self-absorbed in their own groupings, I relaxed. And felt the wetness against my thighs.
Ugh, how delightful. By the time he returned, I would smell of stale milk and coffee. I glanced at the bag containing my new dress. Should I race to the restroom and switch clothes? I would have done that in a heartbeat for Calum, but something made me hesitate. For once, I wanted to be accepted for who I was, rather than what I looked or smelled like. I dug in my purse for the small bottle of perfume I carried around to spritz whenever I met Calum after work. Empty. I shook it and squirted. Nothing. Oh, well. Maybe I could persuade him I was trying out a new perfume.
Using a tissue, I dabbed at my skirt. Fortunately, it was black, so any stains wouldn’t show. I had unknowingly spilled coffee on tight white trousers once, and then conducted a presentation of our latest organic cleaning product with a mocha stain on my right inner thigh. Throughout the demonstration, I thought everyone was staring at my crotch. I kept my body turned sideways as much as possible, either craning my neck around in an awkward, ungainly manner, or looking like I was desperate for the toilet. Better a stain than a hole, though.
With a sigh, I scrunched the tissue, left it on an empty, adjacent table and turned toward the window. It had mucky fingerprints until about half way up the pane. Doubtless, some young child had eaten his marshmallow in slow bites, the foamy sweet reduced in hot hands to a sticky mess painted onto the glass.
The sidewalks were slowly emptying. Shops would close in the next half hour. The gold statue standing on a box looked to be staying the night. A little girl put money in the tin, and then squealed when the statue bent and offered his hand in a show of gratitude. Shadows lengthened to span the road. Still sunny. Odd, I could have sworn a massive, thunderous cloud had engulfed the sky when I entered the coffee house.
The cream stone of the eleventh century cathedral gleamed like marble in the early March sunshine. I had often fantasized about being married to Calum in that splendid church. The lump in my throat increased.
“I got you another coffee to replace the one you lost.” He set the cappuccinos on the table, together with a collection of pastel-coloured sugar packets and several napkins.
Something inside me clenched. Feeling cared for was not something I had often experienced with Calum. It was usually the other way around. After the two years spent catering to his every need and making myself indispensable, I had been convinced the posh restaurant meant he’d realized how much he needed me. Ha. How foolish I’d been. I drew the coffee nearer and forced my lips into a half smile. “That’s very kind of you.”
“Kindness, pshaw. Call it curiosity.” He removed his caramel leather jacket and slung it over the back of the chair.
I dragged my gaze from his jeans-clad backside and feigned interest in the coffee. The leaf emblem was exquisitely sifted in cocoa. It seemed a shame to stick my spoon in. I did, though. I scooped up a mountain of froth, sprinkled some sugar on it and stuck it in my mouth.
My face heated at his raised eyebrow. To cover my embarrassment, I waved the bundle of napkins. “Are you worried I might spill coffee on you, too?”
He took a swallow of his cappuccino and wiped a foam moustache from his upper lip. “Spilling one coffee in a day is misfortunate. Spilling two...well, suffice to say, I would run very far, very fast. If you’re clumsy with coffee, what will you do with my heart?” He placed his hand over his chest and grimaced as though in pain.
“I think your heart is safe. It’s on the other side of your chest.”
“You know,” he said, cocking his head, “I am not at all sure my heart is safe from you.”
Confused and a little flustered, I emptied the sachet of sugar into my coffee. Some spilled over the side, and I rolled my eyes at his stifled chuckle. His humour and openness appealed to me after two years of being told I was clumsy. He was a bit older than me, I estimated around thirty five. Mahogany hair cut short, beginnings of a shadow along his chin. Perhaps—
“Well, I can see why you tripped,” he said, wagging a finger. “Distraction.”
I slurped the coffee, instead of sipping it delicately as I had intended. “I beg your pardon?” Although I understood full well what he referred to, I wanted him to explain, to talk more. His full-bodied voice slid past my ears like melted chocolate down my throat. Part of me wanted to slouch in the chair, close my eyes and just listen—like I did with a Jeremy Irons movie. Or Donald Sutherland. Mmm.
“You are a daydreamer,” he pronounced. “You were fantasising about meeting a fabulously good-looking man with short brown hair and blue jeans. Admit it.”
I stirred more sugar into the coffee and licked the cocoa-infused froth from the spoon. “I was thinking about Donald Sutherland, actually.”
His eyes widened slightly, and I ducked my head to conceal my smile.
“Sure you don’t mean Keifer?”
“Oh, I’m sure. I saw Keifer on Top Gear the other day. The voice is definitely reminiscent of the great man but ...” I threw the spoon at the tray. It landed half on and half off. “Nope. Didn’t do it for me.”
He poked the spoon back on to
the tray, face gloomy. “And instead of meeting Donald here, you met me.”
His gaze dipped to my lips, and a thrill travelled through my body. It had been a long time since Calum had looked at me in that way. Had he ever looked at me like that? I rubbed the bare skin on the underside of my ring finger. “I was not looking for Donald, but I am glad to have met you.”
I liked this guy. He made me laugh, something Calum rarely did; he made a good sparring partner, something Calum rarely did.
“You’re lonely.”
“Will you stop it?” He had called me lonely and distracted. A lonely daydreamer. Was I anything more? I fiddled with the wet patch on my skirt, uncomfortable at how accurately he had read me when, until moments ago, I had not known myself.
He raised his hands. “I apologise. Some people I read more easily than others. Being a doctor, you learn to tell who is disguising the pain and who is exaggerating. When I saw you on the stairs, you looked lonely to me. Easily spooked. I knew you weren’t meeting anybody.”
I pressed my lips together. “I’m not lonely. I like coming here by myself, listening to conversations. It’s a moment of peace in an otherwise talky day.”
“Eavesdropper.” His eyes glinted. “I bet you hate the phone.”
I despised the phone. “I like to look at someone when I’m talking to them. If we’re on the phone, how can I tell if they’re pretending to stick two fingers down their throat or making faces?”
He tried to look shocked and grin at the same time. It produced an odd, contorted expression on his face. “I cannot imagine you knowing anybody like that.”
I knew too many. How strange that I had never seen it until now. “Sometimes I long for deeper conversations, you know? With some people, it’s so hard to connect, and forcing a conversation is like wading through treacle. It’s like trying to orgasm but not able to get to the peak. Repeatedly. Over and over.” I glanced at him. His eyebrows were so far up his forehead they looked like they might pop off. “I guess a guy like you wouldn’t know that kind of frustration.”
Propose To Me Page 21