Page 9 of Free to Dream
I shake my head and glance at the clock—it’s 7:50. Perfect. I have enough time to run down the street for a cup of coffee and make it back in time to review the Lockwood notes Phil had tossed on my desk earlier. Phil generates event profiles before clients come in for their consultation.
After yelling at Phil’s needy ass that I would get him a large, extra skinny latte with whipped cream, I grab my phone and wristlet, and duck out the side door into the crisp morning air, mentally wishing I had grabbed my coat. Fall is going to hit early in our little southern Connecticut town.
Other than my dreams, my life has become monotonous. My greatest stress comes from what I’ll wear to the office. My complacency hasn’t escaped me.
Pausing on the street, I take in the former gingerbread mansion on Collyer’s Main Street, which now houses Amaryllis Events. I let out a wry chuckle. Who would have thought that six of the most cynical people—when it came to love and relationships—would become some of the best wedding and event planners in the Northeast? Not this woman, that’s for damn sure. Each of us use our individual strengths for each event, providing unique moments crafted with elegance, considering everyone’s wishes. We even incorporate input from the spinster aunt that no one wants to listen to. We all know feelings matter. Feelings count. Feelings can destroy souls, and an event as important as a wedding. We work to show people that, and people pay us damn well for our attention to the details.
Strolling down the street of the closest thing to a hometown I have ever known, I nod at several store owners unlocking their front doors minutes before their eight o’clock store openings. I shake my head, not knowing how people can stand to be rushed in the morning. The feeling of never having enough time to take a deep breath, let alone get coffee, before dealing with the good citizens of Collyer, it would be akin to a terrorist attack to my stability.
Passing by the dance studio and candy store, which I know will be filled with high school students later in the afternoon, I duck down the alley between the Colonial-era buildings to head toward The Coffee Shop.
Ava and Matt, the owners and my trusted confidants, look up as I enter. Matt frowns while Ava scurries over with her arms outstretched.
“Cassidy, darling. Why don’t you let us bring you your morning coffee?”
“Ava, if you did, I would never leave the office,” I reply, leaning down to give her cheek a quick kiss. “Besides, it would give Phil a reason to say we never do a damn thing for him.”
“Mouth, Cassidy!” Ava scolds me, gently thumping my arm. Ava is a little bit motherly toward me. Toward all of us.
“Should have heard him this morning while he was whining about not having his extra skinny latte already, Ava. And how can one suck more skinny out of the already skim milk? I told him to stop lying around on his ass and use the treadmill he made Jason buy him, and maybe he wouldn’t be worrying about those washboard abs of his.” Ava tries to hold in her laughter. She finally gives in, and by the time she stops, she’s wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes. “Besides, he wants whipped cream. You should have heard what I said about that.” I smile and wink at Ava because Phil is beyond ridiculous about his coffee demands and we both know it.
Ava lets out one last bellow of laughter, throws a smile at me, and begins making coffee while talking to other customers.
Matt ambles out of the heat of the miniscule kitchen, resting his arms on top of the counter in front of me. “Not sleeping again?”
A former VA psychologist, I found I was more comfortable talking to Matt about my past than any other doctor before. Maybe it’s because he’d gladly take one of his viciously sharp meat cleavers to anyone who would try to hurt me. I think it’s because he understands I feel I’m at the end of my rope.
My childhood was stolen, and that made my future feel bleak. I feel like I’m alone and always will be.
Matt can sense my isolation and reaches forward for my hand. “You’re not alone, Cassidy.”
I laugh derisively as I try to pull my hand away from his large paw.
“You’re not,” he insists, holding onto my hand.
I lean forward, my braid falling over my shoulder. “Then why does it feel that way when I wake up crying and alone, Matt? No one wants someone that’s ruined or damaged.” I pull my hand away as Ava comes bustling over with my drinks. I stand up and smile at Matt. “I’ll always be alone.”
I drop a ten-dollar bill on the counter and tip my lips at Ava. Matt can’t hide his concern, which I choose to ignore as I head out the door.
Holding our coffee slightly away from my body, I meander down the tree lined streets, back toward the office.
Em wasn’t wrong. Something was going on with me. What I felt, I couldn’t put into words to help my siblings understand.
I always recognize when something is losing its course in my perfectly organized life.
* * *
“Here’s your extra skinny,practically water latte, with fat-laden whipped cream.” I hand the coffee over to Phil.
“Don’t you start with that mouth today, Cass,” Phil warns, like I’m nine years old again and not twenty-nine. “I’m in no mood. My abs are just as washboard as the day you met me.”
“It’s not me who has to see them every night. That would be Jason. And I have no idea why you’re freaking out over this, since you look the same as the day I met you. Most days, you act the same way too,” I quip, sipping my cappuccino.
Phil stares at me for a minute before he puts the coffee down and places his hands on his hips. “I swear to God, that mouth of yours is going to be the death of you one of these days.”
“What did you say to set him off this time, Cass?” Ali calls as she passes us, walking into my office.
“Phil, if you took after Ali and worked for those abs, you wouldn’t be worrying about ways to filter out the 0.01% of fat out of skim milk,” I taunt.
