Only In Dreams (Stubborn Love Series)

by Owens, Wendy

  With a swallow, I take a sip of the coffee in front of me, then moan in delight. “Oh my God, that is crazy good!”

  “Told you.”

  “I’m going to get so fat by my wedding.”

  “Somehow I doubt that. Now spill it. Where did you go to dinner last night?”

  “Why do you want to know so bad?” I ask, delighting in her torture at this point.

  “I don’t have a ton of girlfriends I get to dish with down here. Can’t you throw me a bone or something? I mean Jesus, it’s spit up and dirty diapers all day long. I could—” She’s getting heated.

  “All right, all right, I’m just messing with you. Careful before you start lactating. He took me to Roadhouse.”

  “Mmm …” Emmie moans. “I love their portabella burger.”

  “That’s what I got! And dear God, those sweet potato fries? That place just isn’t right,” I say. “And I go back to my original statement that I am going to be so fucking fat by the wedding.”

  I see Emmie flinch, and then realize my use of curse words in front of Olivia. “Sorry.”

  “Was it weird?” Emmie continues, ignoring my apology.

  I think about her question for a minute. “Honestly, no. It was like old times—well, not exactly like old times.”

  “So you only went to dinner?”

  “Yeah, we ended up staying until they closed. He was really curious about Henry, and when I talked about him he didn’t get weird at all. I would have never thought we could be friends again, but apparently it’s possible.”

  “Did he talk about you guys at all?”

  “Not really. It was more catching up on what’s happened over the past four years. I was glad to hear he seems to have conquered the drinking again.” Then, before I thought about it I ask, “Why wouldn’t you have told me?”

  “Huh?” Emmie grunts in confusion.

  “Why didn’t you tell me he’d stopped drinking? He seems to really have his shit together.” I wince, the curse word slipping past my lips again.

  But this time Emmie doesn’t seem upset, as she is focusing on my question. “Why would I have told you?”

  “Because it’s Christian,” I answer quickly, slightly annoyed she would think I wouldn't care.

  “You were moving in with Henry when Christian came back.”

  “So …” I still don’t understand her reasoning.

  “The best way for a new relationship to work is to leave old ones in the past.” Emmie’s words feel sharp, and my defenses go up.

  “I still care for him. I can’t believe you’d think I wouldn’t want to know. I’m a little hurt.”

  “Are you sure that’s why you’re upset?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand, pushing my mug away and fixing my eyes on Emmie’s face.

  “Why are you flipping out on me?” Emmie asks, increasing the pace at which she is bouncing Olivia on her knee.

  “I’m not flipping out,” I correct her, making sure my tone was in check. “I just don’t get why you would think I wouldn’t want to know that Christian got his life back on track. We were together since we were kids. Just because we’re not together anymore, doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

  “Look, Ashton haunted my relationship with Colin for the longest time. I just didn’t want you to have the same baggage with Henry,” Emmie explains, her voice shaking. Even though the conversation is clearly upsetting her, I am too angry to care.

  “Christian wasn’t my husband, and he wasn’t a bastard who killed himself!” I snarl, without thinking my words through.

  “No, but he was someone you still loved when you broke up. And just because I wanted to leave Ashton when he killed himself, didn’t mean I didn’t still love him when he—” She stops herself. “Forget it. I guess I should have told you.”

  “I don’t have feelings for Christian.” I’m not sure if I’m telling Emmie or myself.

  “Good.”

  “I love Henry, and we’re going to get married,” I add.

  “I’m glad.”

  Suddenly, my phone begins to vibrate in the pocket of my robe. Pulling it out, I see Henry’s face smiling at me. “See,” I say, flashing her the phone. “I love him so much, I’m going to tell him about my evening, and he won’t even care.”

  Pushing away from the table, I wish I could rewind and redo the entire end of our conversation. Even though I know I looked like a complete and raving lunatic, I just keep going. Walking up the stairs, I swipe the bar on my phone, clearing my throat. “Hello baby.”

  “There she is,” Henry says softly. “God, I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too.”

  “Have you gotten work done?” Henry asks, and the complete show makeover immediately returns to my mind. I tell him everything, describing each sketch in great detail. He loves the concept, confirming the insane idea that I will have to start over.

  We talk for at least an hour, discussing plans for the wedding, as well as all the things I’m missing in New York. His grandmother apparently isn’t happy with us. Not surprisingly, she wanted to be much more involved in the planning, and with me in Texas it is making it next to impossible for her. Toward the end of the call a silence lingers between us, neither wanting to hang up with the other one.

  “So anything else going on down there?” he asks me.

  A lump grows in my throat. I need to tell him. Christian is only a friend, and by keeping it from Henry I’m making it into something else. I am making it into something wrong and something that has me snapping at my friends.

  “Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Uh-oh.” Henry laughs.

  “What?”

  “You’re making me nervous. You’re not breaking up with me are you?”

  “Yup, you’ve got me. I secretly wanted to come to Texas and manipulated you into sending me here, so I could break up with you over the phone. Excellent plan, huh?”

  “I knew it!” he exclaims. “But that’s okay.”

  “What?” I gasp.

  “I was manipulating you at the same time. I wanted you to go to Texas so I could hit on all your model friends while you were gone.”

  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 b
etrayed 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 wo
nder 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.