Page 20 of I Dreamt That You Loved Me
No. No, no,nooooo.
I sagged against the counter and tried to breathe while the little voice in my head mocked me.
Why are you so shocked? You suspected it from that very first night. Youknewit was him.
But I hadn’t known for sure. There had still been the very real possibility that it was all just a coincidence.
Now, though, Annika had confirmed my worst fears.
Gabriel was my Notebook Boy.
Why? Why did it have to be him?Why did fate have to be so cruel?
“Are you okay?”
I wasnotokay, but I forced a smile. “Mmhmm. Just went down the wrong pipe.”
“Death by cookies. What a sweet way to go,” she joked.
My laughter sounded feeble.
“So listen, we need to talk about your joint birthday celebration…”
CHAPTER SEVEN
My only consolationwas that Gabriel didn’t know I’d found his notebook. And for all I knew, I wasn’t even the girl he wrote songs about.
Writers used everything as inspiration and songwriters were no different. Jane could have just been some random muse, a girl on the street who caught his eye, that’s all.
What would even make me think it was me?
Regardless, I did what anyone would do. I bailed on our joint birthday celebration.
“What? But why? Can’t you just go up on Saturday?” Annika stood in the doorway, watching me pack my duffel bag. “We made all the plans.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But my mom really wants me to spend the weekend with her. I promised I’d catch a train right after work tomorrow.”
It was mostly true. When I called my mom this morning and told her I was coming up for my birthday weekend, she was thrilled.
Annika sat on the edge of my mattress and crossed her arms over her chest. “Okay. Be honest. What don't you like about him?”
I zipped up my bag and played dumb. “Who?”
Annika shoved my bag aside and grabbed my hand, pulling me down onto the bed next to her. “You know exactly who I’m talking about. It’s like you can’t even be in the same room with him without getting all…” She chewed on her lip. “It’s almost like you’re looking for reasons not to like him.”
“I like him,” I protested.
“Sure, you do.” She scowled at me. “You don’t even come to Monks with me anymore.”
“I’ve just been busy, that’s all.”
“Since you’re bailing on your birthday, you’re coming with me on Monday night.”
She had no idea what she was asking of me. How was I supposed to listen to him singthatsong?
I’d spent so much time poring over that stupid notebook, dreaming about the boy who wrote those words, that it felt like all my dreams had been snatched away.
What if I’d met him first?
