Dream On(63)

P.S. Thanks again for the thoughtful gift. I love it



Emotion chokes my throat, and with a shaking finger, I “heart” his text. I don’t know what else I could possibly say in response.

A wave of music rolls over the patio as someone opens the door, and I look up to spot Devin returning with my water. I stuff my phone back into my pocket just as he reaches me. “Here you go.” He extends the tall glass of ice water toward me and I grab it. Condensation slicks my palm as I take a sip. “Thanks.”

“You okay?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing as he studies me.

I paste a wide smile on my face, even though my chest aches. How can a simple, sweet text from Perry make me feel like someone’s yanked on a loose thread in my heart, splitting it down the middle like a seam? I can’t be feeling this way about Perry and be with Devin. What is wrong with me? “Never better.”

“Good. Let’s go.” He tilts his head toward the door, a sweet, mischievous grin tugging at his lips. I follow him back into the bar with a heaviness I shouldn’t feel, and a foreboding I can’t ignore.

Devin is my dream man—I can’t deny it. But I’m starting to wonder if maybe not all dreams are meant to come true.





My phone dings from the counter at the exact moment my toast pops out of the toaster. Ignoring the notification, I butter my two pieces of golden-brown brioche, carefully take my two cloud eggs out of the toaster oven, and scoop them onto each slice of toast. Grabbing my plate and coffee, I’m about to sit at the kitchen table when I remember the painting I’d laid out to dry last night. I return my plate and mug to the counter and carefully pick up the eleven-by-fourteen canvas.

Eyebrows knitting, I study my latest creation: a painting of a mother and daughter walking along the shore of Lake Erie, based on a sketch I did a few weekends ago when Brie and I drove out to Edgewater Park. We’d taken blankets and a picnic lunch, and while we were eating, I noticed a little girl squatting in the sand nearby, looking for beach glass while her mom gazed out at a sailboat in the distance, arm lifted to shade her eyes. It reminded me so much of me and my own mom that I took out the small sketch pad I’ve taken to carrying around with me and drew a quick sketch. Last night when I was flipping through my sketchbook, the image struck me again, and I decided to bring the scene to life on canvas.

The colors are right, but the little girl could use more definition. I’ll work on that later. I prop the painting against the wall in the corner, so it’s out of the way, and settle in at the table with my breakfast. I swipe open my phone as I take a bite of eggy goodness, and groan at the text that appears on the screen.

Devin

Are we still on for lunch today?



Brushing the crumbs off my fingers, I type a reply.

Yep!



Good. I haven’t seen you in days and I miss you



My stomach hollows, guilt gnawing at the edges. It’s been five days since the Fourth of July party, and I’ve turned him down both times he’s wanted to hang out since then. Not that my excuses weren’t legitimate. On Monday, he asked if I wanted to have dinner, but Brie and I already had plans. Sure, the plans involved chicken fried rice and pedis at home, but we were overdue for a girl’s night.

And yesterday, I was in my mom’s car heading to watch my brothers’ soccer game when he texted with an offer of Netflix and chill. I could have changed my plans, but Jackson and Liam would have been disappointed, and Mom would have pestered me with questions about Devin and our relationship if I picked him over my family… questions I wasn’t sure I was ready to answer.

So yesterday, when Devin asked if we could have lunch today—Thursday—there was no reason not to say yes. So I did.

I “heart” Devin’s last text before tossing my phone onto the table, screen down.

“What’s with the face?” Brie asks, shuffling into the kitchen. She’s still wearing her pajamas—a loose black T-shirt and leopard-print pants—and her hair is lifted in tangles around her face like a blond cotton ball. Plunking into the seat opposite me, she snags one of my eggs on toast and takes an oversized bite, but I don’t mind. Brie’s been snatching my food since middle school.

“Nothing,” I say around my own mouthful of eggs. “I’m having lunch with Devin today.”

Her eyebrows raise. “And that’s why you look like you just choked on a grapefruit?”

Lifting and lowering one shoulder, I take another bite.

“You haven’t seen him since the party, and you don’t seem that excited to see him today. What’s going on with you two?”

“I don’t know. Everything’s good, but…”

“Do you not like him anymore? Wait… was he a dick to you? Want me to key his car?” Her eyes gleam behind her glasses and her smile is as vicious as a feral kitten’s.

I snort back a laugh. “No, he’s been amazing. The perfect”—the word “boyfriend” sticks to my tongue and I swallow—“gentleman. I’m excited we’re having lunch today. Truly.”

“So why have you been avoiding him all week then?”

“I haven’t,” I say, lying.

Brie drops her chin and shoots me an oh-really look. “Don’t make me pi you.”