Page 43 of Free to Dream
I make my way to my feet and stand at the sink. My face is pale. My eyes are wide. My chest is moving up and down with the force of my breaths as I contemplate Em’s last message.
Do I need to let him know what happened to me? How could I seriously think I could do this? Phil’s words about sixteen-year-olds being able to date come floating through my mind.
Bet they don’t have to contemplate discussions like this.
I unlock the stall, wash my hands and walk out of the restroom. I turn the corner outside the door and walk right into Caleb. He’s leaning one-shouldered against a wall. “Hey, Pixie. Everything okay? You were gone for a bit and I was starting to get worried.” He reaches out and holds onto my shoulders. One hand smooths up to tip my chin so my eyes meet his.
Meeting his gaze, I make my decision. Go with my gut.
“Is there somewhere we can go to talk before we go out? Somewhere private?” I ask softly.
He suddenly looks concerned, maybe a little nervous. “What’s wrong? Is something wrong with the family?”
Shaking my head, then nodding, I shake my head again. “There are things I need for you to know and understand.”
He slides one of his hands down my arm, setting off those sparks, and captures my hand. “We settled the bill at the table. Let’s head out to the car.”
14
Caleb
Iknew the moment Cassidy relaxed at the dinner table because her smile went brilliant when it happened. The rest of the meal was spent trading quips back and forth with my brother and his fiancé.
Never has so much hinged on a first date. If it went good, I had more time with Cassidy. But, at some point, I’d have to explain how I know everything I do about the Freeman family. I think I would rather be back in Afghanistan facing roadside bombers and gathering on-site intel than talking to Cassidy about the things I know about her. It would implode us before we had a chance to begin. I had only gained a modicum of trust with this woman, and soon I would have to shatter it if we’re to move forward.
I rack my brain for where I can take her for this conversation she wants to have before we head to Molly Darcy’s. That’s assuming she wants to go after we talk.
We make our way into the parking lot with Ry and Jared ahead of us, holding hands. Cassidy stops with her hand on her heart.
“What is it, Pixie?” I murmur, needing to know her thoughts.
“Sometimes I work with people who don’t have that special something. They go through the motions, but you know the marriage isn’t going to last much longer than it takes to plan it. They have it,” she says, nodding at Ry and Jared. My heart balloons in my chest. She’s right. “It makes working with them a pleasure. It makes spending time with them more so.”
“No one deserves it more than, Ry,” I agree, knowing she understood from our talk on Monday.
She smiles with a touch of sadness in her eyes, but she masks it quickly. Idiot, I curse myself. She deserves it more than anyone I’ve ever met.
We meet the guys on the steps. “So, Molly Darcy’s?” Ry rubs his hands together in anticipation.
“Actually, Cassidy and I have a stop to make first. We’ll see you there in a bit.” Ry raises an eyebrow and tilts his head while Cassidy flushes. Jared quickly whacks his fiancé upside the head and I nod my thanks to Jared as I open the door for Cassidy.
After we’re settled inside my Porsche, Cassidy says, “So…” She plays with an imaginary piece of lint on her jeans, worked up by whatever it is she has to say.
“I figured we might check out the sights by the lake,” I reply calmly, though my heart is starting to race while my eyes seek hers out in the dark confines of the car.
When they connect, she answers, “Okay.” It’s a long, drawn out word, her Southern accent seeping through. She places her hands on top of each other.
I turn on the radio. “Music preference?”
She waves one hand in the air, turning the choice over to me. As I drive to Kenosia Avenue, I realize I’m starting to feel something more than just an above average attraction for this incredible woman.
She’s quiet on our way out to the lake. I reach over at one point and place one of my hands on hers, claiming her fingers. She turns to me and I glance over. Slowly, carefully, she returns the gesture and grips mine. I let out a sigh of relief.
“Why do I have a feeling I’m not the only one with something on their mind?” she says quietly.
I don’t reply.
She sighs.
