Page 73 of Dandelions and Smoke

“I want the fairytale,” I whisper along with Vivian, a tear rolling down my cheek.

“Do you need a moment?” Chief teases from behind me on the bed, placing a lingering kiss on my shoulder.

I wipe at my face and grab one of the numerous fluffy pillows from the other side of me before hitting him with it.

“This is the part,” I exclaim, but he looks at me like he has no idea what I’m talking about, so with a huff, I explain. “This is the moment that Vivian decides that her dreams are worth it, that she’s worth it. She tells him she wants more, but she always has. This is the moment when she finally believes that she deserves it.”

The crease between his brows smooths, and he looks at me like I’ve said something he’ll carry with him for the rest of his life.

“Hope, wishes on dandelions, and fairytales,” he reflects, nodding his head, like he’s reading between the lines and I’m the open book.

Feeling all too self-aware as heat travels up my neck, I tug the blanket closer around me.

“I know, it’s silly. Let’s just go back to watching the movie.”

I try to turn away from him, but his hand catches my chin, forcing me to look him in the eyes.

“Don’t apologize for holding onto something most people will never grasp, for having a light in you that’s so bright that it helps others believe that they can find their way,” he says seriously before a smirk tugs at his lips. “I want to be more like you when I grow up.”

I chuckle, shaking my head as the tension that had been twisting through me finally dissipates. “Whatever you say, Peter Pan.”

We return to the movie, this time paying closer attention, like it means even more watching it with him. Snuggled up, warm under his comforter with my head on his bare chest, my fingers move methodically over the soft dusting of dark hair covering it. When Edward’s limousine pulls up to Vivian’s apartment building, and he bursts through the sunroof with flowers, yelling for his Princess Vivian, I can’t help the smile that spreads from ear to ear.

“Looks like she gets her fairytale,” Chief says in a breathy murmur as the screen goes dark and the room is bathed in nothing but the moonlight drifting in from the windows behind us.

“Yes,” I yawn, closing my eyes as sleep wraps around me like his arms, pulling me closer. “She does.”

The cafe looks like Ainsley raided the flower shop and didn’t leave a single rose or baby’s breath behind. Everywhere I look, splashes of pink and red bloom against soft white clouds of baby’s breath. Soft red blankets drape over the couches in the back, and pillows that say, “Coffee is Love” are there to make our patrons feel right at home. Ainsley’s even adorned the mismatched pots sprouting greenery with hearts. The vines climbing the lattice around the windows create a natural border around the handwritten chalk-marker letters that spell out “Love at First Sip”.

I’m watching the clock as my shift comes closer to an end. Some days I feel like I hit a wall by ten in the morning. Other days it’s as though all of the energy and drive to get up and complete a simple task like getting dressed has completely vanished. If by two in the afternoon I’m not completely exhausted, I consider it a success.

Luckily, it’s Valentine’s Day, and there’s been a steady stream of first dates and long-time lovers occupying the cafe since morning, keeping me busy. Tris has been up to her eyeballs in Ellie’s Biscuits orders because apparently, if you don’t have a significant other, the role of Valentine goes to the dog.

Meanwhile, Ainsley floats around the cafe spreading her southern hospitality. She’s added extra whipped cream and donuts to all the orders placed by anyone who comes in looking lonely. It’s a little gesture, but each time it’s produced a smile where there wasn’t one before.

As for me, I can’t wait to get out of here. I’ve never been on a Valentine’s Day date before, but I finally have someone in my life special enough to change that. I check the clock for the billionth time today, and this time Billy walks in, catching me.

“Someone’s excited for their date,” he points out playfully.

I roll my eyes as he greets me with a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Shut up,” I reply, brows pulled together to feign annoyance, but my lips twitch up, giving me away.

“For you,” he says, handing me a single flower.

My eyes flutter in surprise as I carefully take it from him. “For me?”

“Yeah, it’s a little tradition of mine, actually.” He grabs the back of his neck nervously, catching me off guard since it’s so unlike him.

“A tradition?” I ask carefully, sensing that there’s more to this explanation.

His chin dips as he smiles, the tips of his ears turning red.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Growing up in foster care, I was bounced around a lot, which meant never having any real connections to anyone. The longest I’d ever spent in one home was just short of a year.”

We’ve spoken about his childhood in vague conversations, and both of us have made jokes about raising ourselves, but this seems different, heavier in a way I can’t put my finger on.

As he speaks, his eyes dart around, like he’s making sure no one is listening. The love songs playlist Ainsley made is loud enough to muffle his voice, but everyone is too involved in their own conversations to pay us any mind. Regardless, I step closer as he continues, shuffling us toward the counter and out of everyone’s way.