Dane's Storm(7)
His chest squeezed as his lips tipped upward, a smile meant to reassure her. She blinked several times, her chest rising and falling as her gaze washed over his face, those pink lips parting as she released an exhale of breath.
He looked again at the quickly drawn sketches, seeing himself through her eyes. This girl, she had really seen him. Not just his face, or his wealth, his athleticism, or his popularity—all those things others thought defined him. The things even he sometimes used to define himself. No, she had seen the things he hoped he was—the qualities inside that mattered to him. And as he looked into her eyes, he realized that he wanted very, very much to see her too.
CHAPTER THREE
Audra
Now . . .
The day went by in the blink of an eye as I worked my tail off to get a quote drawn up for the McMasters and prepared the flowers for a wedding we’d been hired to do the following morning. I was thankful for the preparation that allowed me to lose myself in the hands-on work, my brain quieting as I focused on creating one centerpiece after another, arranging the flowers just so.
I made Jay leave at six thirty, but I stayed, finally shutting off my computer, yawning, and calling it a day at around nine.
Fat, fluffy snowflakes fell from the sky as I drove toward home, but it didn’t feel overly frigid. The snow would likely be gone by morning and Trina Spellman would get a crisp, but lovely wedding day with blue skies and air that smelled like winter—icicles and a far-off tinge of smoke.
I let myself into my dreary, rundown gabled-front home, the house I’d lived in for most of my life, and hung my jacket on the coat tree by the door. After a quick shower, I changed into a worn pair of sweats and stood in front of the microwave as I waited for a frozen pasta meal to heat. Another exciting Friday night. I didn’t mind. Mostly. Or . . . usually. Usually I didn’t mind. I liked the peaceful regularity of my life. I enjoyed the quiet, the expected. Most days I was so exhausted I practically fell into bed anyway, only ever at home to eat and sleep. Even in the winter, I usually had a weekend event that kept me busy, kept me working.
So why did I feel this strange sadness tonight? Why did the quiet of my house seem not as tranquil as it normally did, but . . . lonely? So lonely. I tapped my fork on the counter as I watched my dinner spin on the glass tray in the microwave in front of me. It was that photograph and that story. They’d both dredged up the edges of memories I didn’t want to think about.
When my meal was done, I took it and a glass of wine into the living room and sat on the couch, placing the steaming box of pasta and my wineglass on the coffee table in front of me. I clicked on the television to a local news station and began eating as I watched. I glanced at my dad’s old recliner, picturing him sitting there the way he had once upon a time, his expression glum, his eyes distant, physically present but emotionally unavailable.
Sadness settled in my gut, that old familiar guilt that surrounded me here.
I should move. There were a few good memories in this house, but nothing I liked about it aesthetically, nothing I could really call my own. Everything was old and worn and someone else’s style. The warehouse where I worked spoke of me and what I loved, but I couldn’t exactly live there. Yes, I should sell this place, but it needed so many repairs before I could list it, and right now, I didn’t have the money to make even one of them.
When I was done with my meal and my wine, and had watched a little more news, I brushed my teeth and got in bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. I closed my eyes and began drifting to sleep, a howling sound coming from somewhere deep inside of me. I fisted the blankets, my eyes popped open, and I exhaled a sharp gust of breath when I realized it was only the wind. Yes, only the wind.
Wasn’t it?
I dreamed, and in my dream I was underground. Live. Breathe! My heart galloped and my lungs burned as I pushed through the hard soil, the world opening up in a sudden blinding stream of glittering white. Snow. It was snow. Frozen crystals melted as I stretched upward, breaking open the final hard crust of ice. Up, up to where the sun was breaking over the mountains, flooding the world with color. With the sudden freedom, happiness spiraled through me, making me want to shout with glee. And that’s when I turned and saw his face. Leaning over me, he wore that same look of reverence I remembered. But as suddenly as happiness had gripped my spirit, so did misery. “You didn’t protect me,” I said. “Why?”
His expression grew sad as well. “You didn’t let me.”
I woke with a start, my alarm buzzing in my ear, and tears burning the backs of my eyelids. “You didn’t let me.”
**********
Monday morning dawned clear and chilly. I felt better, revived. It was a whole new week, a chance to start fresh, and I had so many exciting things going on. I’d sent the McMaster quote on Saturday after I’d arrived home from delivering the Spellman flowers to the church, and then decorating the reception hall with centerpieces featuring golden dahlias, cream and pale pink garden roses, bright orange ranunculus, cymbidium orchids, and herbs and fern for the greenery. They’d turned out stunning, if I did say so myself, and I’d spent extra time on photographs for my online portfolio.
The McMaster quote had come to a total that made me feel slightly nauseated as I’d never sent such a large figure to anyone. I thought I’d been more than fair in my pricing, and only quoted what they’d asked for, so I’d taken a deep breath and hit send. A reply came back Sunday morning saying everything looked good and a deposit would go in the mail on Monday. I’d been thankful I was alone so no one could hear the excited squeak I hadn’t been able to contain.