Page 42 of Follow Your Bliss

“So violent!” He checked his mirrors, laughing, and passed the McDonald’s 18-wheeler we’d been following for too long.

“Fine then. Tell me, kind sir, would you prefer Truth, or Dare?”

“Hmmm. You seem to want me to say Truth, I guess, so I’ll say…Dare.”

I pursed my lips. “I dare you to tell me why you took me to my prom.”

If the sudden scrunching of his nose was any indication, I wasn’t going to like the answer. “Well, you know I had a girlfriend at the time.”

“That was the word on the street.”

He blew out a breath. “Becca was moving out, and Alex and I were fighting over who got to move out of our room and into her big bedroom with the balcony. Mom and Dad told Becca she could decide.”

“Jason Soniat. You took me to prom to get a better room?”

“Kinda? I mean I had a girlfriend! But it wasn’t like it was much of a sacrifice. I got a bigger room,andI got to go to a beautiful girl’s prom.”

“Stooooooooooop. My big night was a bargaining chip in balcony room negotiations? And don’t act like you enjoyed yourself. You were miserable the whole time.”

Brown eyes under furrowed brows flitted to me. “I wasn’t miserable. When you did talk, I liked hearing what you had to say. Not only that, but Jesus, you were so hot in that silky black dress, I felt like such a stud. You know what would’ve made it more fun? If you would’ve danced with me more than once.”

“I danced with you.”

“Yeah, but then that old song came on you liked—by The Bee Gees? And I asked you if you wanted to dance, and you turned me down.”

“God, how do you even remember that? I wanted to dance with you, but I did you a favor by turning you down. You only asked to be nice.” I bit my lip. More hurt was creeping into my voice than I’d intended. I stared out at the green hills of Alabama passing outside the window. Maybe I should suggest we play I Spy or Would You Rather instead. Because this didn’t make sense. All this time, I’d used my prom as another prime example of me being defective. Unworthy of a man’s interest. I couldn’t find my own date, and I bored to tears the poor guy who’d gotten guilted into going with me.

“Maybe I wanted to dance with you,” he said softly.

He was only trying to make me feel better. That’s what all his flirting was. He thought I was still stinging from breaking up with Isaac, and he was pitying me. It was the only thing that made sense. The hills passed by, the sun was going down. The silence was unbearable.

“Truth or dare?” he asked quietly.

I wasn’t in the mood for either, but he was renting me a fantastic apartment for cheap, helping me build my brand, and evacuating me so I didn’t die in a hurricane. “Truth.”

“So, all the wedding dresses. It’s your life’s work. But why aren’tyoumarried?”

I’d been asked that question hundreds of times, but his stress on the wordyousomehow transformed the question into something new. Regardless, I trotted out my old standby. “I’m just waiting for the right guy to come along.”

His chin jutted out, and his brows lowered. “I don’t buy that.”

“What do you mean?” Why couldn’t he be one of the dozens of people who were satisfied with that answer, the ones who gratefully accepted it as part and parcel of the illusion of the wedding dress designer waiting for her true love? Nobody looked below this satin-and-lace surface.

“I’m not buying it because you didn’t sell it hard enough. It’s a pat answer, like when someone says, ‘Hey, how are you?’ and you say, ‘Fine,’ but you just got fired and your dog just died.”

I stared out my side window. I’d hidden my jaded views from too many people for too long to even be able to articulate why I wasn’t married. I squirmed in my seat, exposed as a fraud and a liar. What could I even say? Because marriages don’t last? Because I watched divorce tear my mother apart? Because the idea of anyone falling in love with me and staying was absurd?

He glanced at me again. “That silence means I’m right.”

“You’re digging awfully deep, emotionally, for a shirtless woodworker. Why are you poking this bear?”

His expression turned contrite. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me why.”

I let the silence lengthen. I couldn’t even throw the same question back at him now that I knew the story of his ex. Besides, he wouldn’t understand. His parents were still together. He didn’t grow up watching his mother cryall the time, struggling to make ends meet with two young children, all on her own. I’ll always be grateful that she got help and climbed her way out of her despair, found friends and neighbors to help with us while she went back to school and found her joy in her life again.

But now she was going right back into the lion’s den, and it made zero sense to me. Why would she willingly put herself at such a risk? I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep as the shadows along the roadside deepened.

Chapter 7

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