Only In Dreams (Stubborn Love Series) (19 page)

CHRISTIAN HAD ASKED for Emmie and Colin to meet us at the bowling alley, but the more time I spend alone with him, the more danger I’m in for something inappropriate transpiring between us. Without a word to him, I tell Emmie we should all ride together; she’s thrilled by the idea. However, Christian looks a little clueless when everyone piles into his truck without explanation.

Driving down the old highway that leads to the local bowling alley, Colin kicks into story mode. One of the great things about being friends with brothers, is that even if one of them likes to hide his embarrassing stories from you, the other one is always eager to share.

Colin reveals that soon after moving to Bastrop, Christian had to purchase a new vehicle because he bent the frame of his little Honda when he ran off the road and ended up in a ditch to avoid a deer. Christian's warning when I first arrived, about driving and the deer population in Bastrop, suddenly makes a lot more sense.

When the four of us lived in New York, couples nights were a regular thing for us. We would watch cheesy horror flicks with massive bowls of buttered popcorn, or head down to Kings to watch that night’s entertainment. The evening feels so familiar and there is a comfort about it I am happy to embrace.

The small bowling alley is quaint, and it’s quickly obvious all of the patrons know one another.

“You’re in the lane next to us,” Christian informs Colin.

“So, how about we put a friendly little wager on this,” Colin suggests, pushing into his brother’s space.

“Paige isn’t a bowler, so that doesn’t seem fair,” Christian argues. “How about we get a handicap for her?”

“Hey!” I protest, feeling incredibly insulted.

“Fair enough, ten pins?” Colin agrees.

“Wait a second,” I huff.

“Deal,” Christian exclaims, offering a hand to shake on the agreement.

Emmie shakes her head, laughing. “Ignore them. Once they start this crap, it’s too late.”

“If Em and I win, you have to change ten dirty diapers, and I mean number two, buddy,” Colin tosses out the wager eagerly.

“Fine, and if we win?” Christian inquires.

“What do you want?” Colin asks cautiously.

“You owe me ten hours of free labor.”

“That doesn’t seem equal,” I interject.

“Have you smelled Olivia’s diapers?” Colin questions before enthusiastically agreeing. “Deal!”

The game goes pretty much how everyone expected. Christian and I trail at least five to ten pins at all times, even with the handicap. Though Christian and Colin try their best to relay the useful hints that will help my game, including adjusting my stance approach, release, and even my breathing, nothing seems to help.

However, toward the seventh frame, things begin to shift, and I find my stride. Considering I’ve been bowling twice in my entire life, and both times were in high school, I don’t know how I could suddenly find a stride, but I wasn’t about to complain.

“All right babe,” Christian says. At first the term unnerves me, then I decide to shake it off. “You can do this. I know you can. Look, Emmie only knocked six pins down on that last one. She’ll never pick up those four pins in her next roll. You can get a strike here, I know you can.”

“Thanks, Christian,” Emmie snaps.

“This is war, no pity missy,” Christian taunts back.

Over the speaker system in the bowling alley, the song switches. I turn a bright shade of red as I hear John Hiatt’s “Have a Little Faith In Me” echoing across the lanes.

“You hear that?” Christian shouts, wildly waving his arms and jumping around. “The bowling Gods are speaking to you right now! They have faith in you. You can do this!”

I start laughing so hard I have to take a moment to catch my breath.

“Stop,” I squeal between puffs of air. “I’m going to pee my pants.”

“Oh no, peeing on the alley is grounds for immediate disqualification. We win!” Colin exclaims.

Christian kneels down, looking me in the eyes. “Are you going to let him talk to you like that? Are you going to let these jokers win? Or are you going to show them just what a city girl can do?”

“Yeah, that’s right!” I shout. “I can do this.”

Blocking out all of the noise surrounding me, including the shouts coming from Colin as he attempts to get in my head, I prepare myself. The only thing standing between victory and me are those ten pins, staring at me, taunting me from the end of the lane. Those bitches are going down.

I close my eyes and try to recall all of the instruction Christian has given me. Middle finger, ring finger, and thumb in holes—check; four to five even steps as I approach, stay low, good knee bend, make sure of a stable follow through, and release. Release, damn it! The ball makes a loud popping noise as the suction around my thumb suddenly releases, the ball now at eye level.

I flinch, drawing my arms and head into my chest, preparing for the loud thud as the ball connects with alleyway. I can’t look up, I don’t want to see the descent, which in my mind, I have made peace with the fact this most certainly must end in a gutter-ball.

As I turn and see Christian’s expression, he fist pumps crazily in the air, and I realize things are not as I assume. Spinning around, I watch, everything seems to be moving in slow motion. I hold my breath as my ball crashes into the pins, sending them flying in all directions. I gasp in disbelief as one pin rockets into the lane next to us, knocking down the four standing pins from Emmie’s last roll.

I scream, turning to look at all of my friends’ faces. They aren’t shouting as I expect; instead, they are all staring, their bottom jaws hanging low.

“So does that mean I get fourteen?” I ask before delivering a wide and satisfied grin.

The utter shock quickly fades into riotous laughter and yelling. “We’re not worthy,” Colin repeats, acting as though he is bowing down to me.

“I say they automatically win, for that move,” Emmie suggests.

“Hey woman, ten poop-filled diapers are on the line here,” Colin reminds her.

“True,” she replies quickly, hopping to her feet and rubbing Colin’s shoulders, giving him a pep talk. “Are you going to let them take this away from us, babe? I know you can do this, you’re Colin Bennett. You’re the best at everything you do.”

“Yeah! That’s right,” Colin says before beginning to woof as if he were a dog.

“That was amazing,” Christian praises me.

“I know, and now I need to head to the little girl’s room,” I reply, racing up the stairs without a moment’s hesitation.

When I return, everyone is patiently waiting and watching. Emmie has already taken her turn, as well, and things are looking grim for her and Colin with only three pins knocked down.

“What happened?” I ask, walking into the pit area, looking at Emmie.

“Why don’t you ask Christian?” Emmie huffs, crossing her arms playfully.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re so easily distracted.”

“He kept chanting ‘choke’ when it was my turn.”

“Christian!” I scorn.

He looks at me, lowering his eyebrows. “Ten, we’re talking about ten stank-ass diapers.”

I laugh, walking past my friends and rolling the ball, this turn much less epic and with a total of four pins. The game continues in such a way for the next couple frames. Ultimately, my strike is enough to clench the win, but by only a few pins.

“Sorry honey,” Emmie says, running her fingers through Colin’s shaggy hair.

“We were so close,” he grumbles. “I should have never agreed to the handicap.”

It’s such a fun evening, and I’m sad to see it come to an end, but much to my delight, the rest of the crew feels the same way, and we head home for pie. It is a beautiful night, with incredible friends, and my heart feels full, at least until Christian gets me alone.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” he asks, stepping off to the side.

“Sure,” I reply hesitantly.

“Yeah, umm—I wanted to tell you I had a lot of fun tonight,” he begins.

“I did too,” I reply, but I can tell something is bothering him. “Are you okay?”

He looks at the floor, before his eyes begin shifting nervously around the room. “Not exactly,” he says at last.

“What’s wrong?” I question, now deeply concerned.

“I’m leaving.” His reply confuses me. I stand there in silence, trying to process what he means. “I got a job in Dallas.”

“What do you mean you got a job?” I attempt to clarify.

“You know, an order. It’s a referral from that last big rush I did. They need me to help with a hand-carved stairwell banister for a home there, so I’ll need to do it on site.”

“Oh, okay. Why are you telling me this?”

He seems slightly annoyed and insulted by my question. “I’ll be gone for a couple weeks.”

“I go home in a couple weeks,” I remind him.

“I know, but we have one more date,” he adds.

“What?”

“You promised me three dates,” he repeats.

“I have to go home; I need to be there for my show. I’m sorry, I can’t help that you took on a job out of town,” I explain, slightly relieved we won’t have to go through any further charades.

“I’ll work through the night to get it done faster, and I’ll be home in ten days. Promise me you won’t leave before I get back,” he begs.

“I can’t,” I say, knowing full well I can give him those two weeks.

“Please, I wouldn’t take the job except this guy is important for another one of my projects.”

I consider saying no, but with Christian gone for two weeks, I know I’ll have a lot of focus time to finish up the details. “I can stay the two weeks, but then I have to go.”

“Fair enough,” he says, a slight smile on his face. “Thank you.”

I nod in response. And that is it; by the time I wake in the morning, he has already left for Dallas.

RUNNING MY FINGERS across the garment in my hands, I take a deep breath. That’s it; it’s done. My entire show is ready for the runway. I even managed to create the two alternate pieces I was certain I wouldn’t have time for.

Standing up and walking to the other side of the room, I place the dress on a hanger and slip it into the shipping box, before taping it shut. Anxiety floods over me again, my heart nervously fluttering for a moment. The idea of shipping a box of my garments—garments I’ve spent months working so tirelessly on—is a little overwhelming.

I take a deep breath, then push out all of the air from my lungs. I move on to another box along the wall. Pressing a couple stray fabric samples inside, I tape it shut. The last couple days have been a whirlwind. Part of preparing to return to New York, means shipping back all of the supplies we brought here. I’ve certainly rethought Henry’s suggestion about hiring a personal assistant.

Damn it, focus, Paige! I’ve been telling myself that for over a week now. It seems like I do anything but focus. For the past couple days, every time I call Henry, he either doesn’t answer, or is about to head off to some meeting and has no time to talk to me. Things feel unnatural, to say the least. I can’t figure out if it’s him, or if somehow I might be at the root of the issue.

Then there’s Christian, who, no matter how many times I tell myself not to think about him, in the end my thoughts seem to always end up settling on him.

“Hello?” Emmie’s voice calls out as the sound of the door opening fills the room. “Hey sweetie, how’s it going?”

“I feel like I’m drowning in boxes,” I reply honestly, looking around at the massive amount of work ahead of me. “But, on a positive note, I finished that last dress, and the entire show is boxed up and ready to go.”

“That’s awesome!” Emmie exclaims as she crosses the room to give me the awkward sideways squeeze-hug.

“Yeah, but now I have to start packing up all the other stuff to ship back. God, how in the hell did Henry get all of this stuff down to me? It must have taken him forever,” I remark.

“Well, I’m here to help. And then Colin can head over later and carry the boxes to the post office for us.”

“Are you serious?” I ask, thrilled at the offer.

“Of course, you’ve helped us so much over the past couple months between Olivia and the gallery, it’s the least we can do,” Emmie insists, immediately digging in and placing items from the work table in a nearby discarded box.

“You do realize you were the one who opened up your home to me and who has been feeding me every night since I got here,” I remind her.

“And you’d do exactly the same for us,” she replies. We both continue our work in silence until she asks, “Is Henry excited about you coming home?”

I mull over the question in my mind for a few seconds. Had she asked me only weeks ago, the answer would have been a resounding yes, but honestly I just didn’t know what was going on in his head anymore. “I suppose.”

“You suppose?” Emmie parrots, then laughs. “What’s with the melancholy? I thought all you could think about was going home.”

“It was. I do, I mean—” I stammer. “I don’t know. After Thanksgiving I was so sure about where I was and where Henry and I were, but now, everything just seems fucked up.”

“What are you talking about?” she asks, setting down the scissors in her hand and walking over to face me.