Page 30 of Free to Dream
“Seriously, Cassidy.” His husky voice fills my ear and leaves me feeling like I just drank a glass of wine too fast. “I’m still in my office because I barely got any work done today, wondering if…”
“Wondering if what, Caleb?” I ask quietly.
“Wondering if you’d say yes?” he replies, just as quietly.
I curl up in the middle of my bed into a ball, my arm wrapped around my knees because I’m petrified.
Do I have the courage to try to reach through time and space for the one star I never thought I would ever get to make a wish on? I look around my room. I’ve tried to build dreams in here. It’s time I tried to live one.
“Okay,” I whisper.
I hear a rush of air come from Caleb on the other end of the line before he says huskily, “Great. I’ll pick you up at six on Friday.”
Hearing the rustle of clothing, I picture him walking on plush carpeting, muffling the sound of his boots.
“What are you doing?”
“Fist pumping the air,” he says seriously.
I blink a few times, then I burst out laughing.
Smart. Funny. Arrogant. Gorgeous.
What the hell did I just agree to?
“I love that sound, Pixie,” Caleb murmurs. “Perfect way to end a call.
“Wait, Lockwood. What the hell am I supposed to wear? How will you know where to pick me up?”
“I’ll call you tomorrow, but you should be ready by six.” He hangs up the phone before the thoughts of possibly backing out can even formulate.
Told you—arrogant. But maybe not quite the asshole I thought he was on Monday.
Plugging my phone into my bedside charger, I wrap myself in my blankets with a smile on my face.
And for the first time in weeks, my dreams don’t end in nightmares.
They end with Caleb.
* * *
It isn’tuntil the next morning at the office I realize I never thought to check my planner to see if we have an event on Friday night. This man has me so off-kilter, that I, the freaking obsessive compulsive wedding planner, never looked at any calendar the day before while I was contemplating accepting Caleb’s invitation.
I snatch up my calendar and grab my iPhone, comparing both for Friday at six. I groan and put my head in my hands. I never do this. I double booked appointments.
I never double book appointments.
Never.
This is what Caleb Lockwood does to me. He throws me off my stride. He makes it so I can’t think. I come up with all kinds of preposterous thoughts to downplay these feelings for him. This is why going out with him is a bad, bad idea.
Reaching for the phone, I call Em. She’ll help me get my head on straight. Jabbing my finger on the extension, I call her office phone.
“What’s up?” she answers distractedly.
“Can I come down? I need to talk to you,” I ask, sounding desperate to my own ears. I pray she doesn’t notice.
“Sure.” Her voice now sounds calm and tranquil. “I’m just going over the Lockwood-Dalton designs. I could use a second eye.”
