Page 38 of Forgotten Dreams
“No.” She snatches her hand away from mine and covers her face with both of them. “I was drunk. So it doesn’t count.”
“You said it, so it meant you wanted to say it. You just needed a little bit of a push.” I touch the tip of her nose with my finger. “They say a drunken woman’s words are a sober woman’s thoughts.”
“Who says this?” She tilts her head to the other side. “Who? Say their names.”
“A lot of people.” I pull her to me, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. She holds both my sides. My T-shirt fisted in her hands. “You look beautiful”—I softly bend to kiss her lips—“and I did miss you.” I kiss her again. “And I’m really, really happy you called me.”
“Does it matter that I would like to forget that phone call?” She looks up at me as she takes a deep breath in.
“You can try,” I start, and her face looks hopeful, “but I’m not going to forget, and chances are I’ll remind you just in case.”
“Caleb.” Her head goes back, and she closes her eyes.
“Love it when you call my name, baby.” I kiss her nose. “Now, are you going to show me what you did to the kitchen?”
Her eyes light up “Yes.” She turns in my arms and grabs my hand, dragging me behind her.
I stop dead in my tracks when I see it all together. I knew what the cabinets looked like and what tile she picked out and even the counter, but when I see it all together, it blows me away.
“This is a nice touch,” I say of the base island brown-colored cabinets that she did. “Wasn’t sure it would look good with the cream cabinets, but it pops out.” I move over and my finger traces the white marble top with light-gray veins in it. “And the barstools”—I motion to the four barstools that she has tucked under the island—“the feet of the stools match the light fixtures.” I point up to the two square brass light fixtures that hang over the island. “They match perfectly.”
She moves to the other side of the island. “Just like you,” she extends her hands on the island, “I’m good at my job.”
“I can see that.” I look over at the stove she had put in. It has four burners with a grill beside them and then another two burners. “You like to cook.” I motion to the chef-like stove with two oven doors under it.
“Not really.” She outstretches her hands by her sides to hold on to the counter. “But this might be my forever home”—she shrugs—“so I might as well get what I need now and not have to change it two years down the line.”
“Your forever home,” I repeat her words. “You’ve been in town for what, two weeks?”
“I sort of knew before I moved here that this was where I wanted to be,” she declares. “You went home this weekend.”
“I went to visit my parents,” I sort of correct her. “Went to show them I was still alive and well.” I stand at my side of the island. “Spent time with my niece and nephew.”
“Did you enjoy yourself?” I can see her finger tapping the top of the island.
“I would have enjoyed myself more if someone was with me”—I look behind me at the two-door, stainless-steel fridge—“in my bed.”
“What’s the matter, Caleb? No high school girlfriends to warm the bed?” She says the words and she tries to make it sound like it doesn’t bother her, but I can see on her face it does.
“Girlfriends is a stretch but the answer is nope.” I stare into her eyes. “I dated one girl in high school and throughout college,” I tell her, “but she wanted to be married and have kids now.” I point at the floor. “I just didn’t see that with her, I guess, so we broke up.”
“We broke up?” She tilts her head to the side. “Or she dumped you because you couldn’t commit to her?” I see the smirk fill her face. “Is that because you are scared of commitment? That’s a red flag.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I’m not scared of commitment, and If you must know, I broke up with her, but we ended on good terms.” I end it on that, the last thing I want to do is discuss my ex and one of the real reasons that I moved here.
“I don’t believe you.” She folds her arms over her chest. “No one ends on good terms with their ex.”
“I am good friends with Lilah.” I can’t help the smirk that fills my face. “I love when I prove you wrong.”
“That’s why I can’t date you.” My heart sinks. “Girl code.” She rolls her eyes at me, and I can see she’s really not that serious, at least I hope fucking not. “Do you want something to drink?”
“Are you asking me to stay?” I watch her walk past me to the fridge.
“Will you leave if I tell you to leave?” she asks me over her shoulder with a twinkle in her eye and I can tell she’s fucking with me.
“I mean, if you want me to.” I turn to watch her, leaning against the counter, folding my arms over my chest. “I did come straight here.”
“You came straight here?” She opens the fridge, the shock written all over her face.
