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“Magic …” I whispered as images sprang to mind. Sparks and snowflakes danced through the air, and I’d felt so alive. But it had just been a dream, hadn’t it? The dream had reflected my fears of the power my employer had over me. Then again, he’d also dreamt it. That had to mean it was real, right? Unless maybe his dream was about his power over me and we just happened to use the same imagery in our dreams about the same subject. “I have to go,” I said, pushing past him. “I have a date tonight. With my boyfriend.”
He stepped out of the way, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay. If that’s the way you want it, I can understand. It’s up to you. I’d just thought … I’d hoped …” He shook his head. “I thought you were different.” Then he walked away before I could make my own dramatic exit.
I should have been happy to have an end to that particular dilemma, but my heart was heavy as I headed home to get ready for my big date. At the end of this evening, I’d be engaged. This was what I’d wanted for so long. Once we were married, I wouldn’t have to work in the store anymore. I’d be free.
Funny, that wasn’t supposed to leave me weighted down with gloom.
*
That evening, I was dressed up in my best little black dress and high heels with my hair up and my nails buffed when Josh came to pick me up for dinner. He wore a tuxedo and had yet another bouquet of flowers for me, this time red roses. I had that same burst of love for him when I saw him that’d I’d had on the stairs that morning, and all the gloom dissipated. I loved him and wanted to marry him. That was the only thing I’d ever wanted. I threw my arms around him and kissed him.
“Well, that’s more like it,” he said, and I got the strangest feeling he was talking more to himself than to me.
A cab waited for us at the curb and whisked us off to a fancy, romantic restaurant. This was the kind of proposal I’d hoped for when he’d made the first offhand remark about getting married. It had all the right ingredients, right out of a diamond commercial. I wondered when the big moment would come. Probably with dessert, I decided. That seemed to be the traditional way of doing it. Would he just get out the ring and kneel, or had he set up some fancy presentation where the ring would be in a piece of cake or a glass of champagne? I could barely focus on the meal from thinking about what was to come.
But then as the meal wore on, my enthusiasm gradually waned, even though we were surrounded by soft music and candlelight. I found myself looking across the table at him and getting that old feeling that I was looking at a stranger. I’d forgotten about that in all the excitement. Had I been excited about him proposing, or was it just excitement from being proposed to? Was this what Florence had meant about trusting my gut, focusing on my feelings instead of on the situation? It was so confusing, like I was feeling two completely opposite things at the same time. How could I be madly in love with Josh and wanting to marry him while still thinking of him as a stranger I didn’t particularly like?
I remembered other things as the evening continued. Just before that moment when he’d rescued me on the stairs, there had been something I was upset about, and it had to do with Josh, not Owen. I hadn’t been fleeing up the stairs from Owen, I’d been fleeing down the stairs from Josh after hearing him talk to Florence. She’d said something about Mr. Wrong and Mr. Right, and she’d been talking like these were roles we were all playing.
Then I realized what all this reminded me of: that movie Florence had selected for us to watch. There was the safe guy and the right guy, but the safe guy wasn’t even truly safe. He was someone to settle on, but there were warning signs and red flags about what life would be like with him. A marriage with him might not be bad, but the heroine could never really be herself while she was with him. There would always be a part of herself she’d have to deny, and that would be tragic. Choosing the right guy might feel risky, but the payoff would be huge.
The waiter brought out a small cake with sparklers on it, and the sparklers triggered another memory, of sparks dancing in the air as Owen and I ran through the bookstore. The memory was just as vivid as these sparklers in front of me. It hadn’t been a dream. It had been real. I’d wanted to kiss Owen after that, more than I’d ever wanted to kiss Josh—or anyone else. He wasn’t Mr. Wrong, the skeevy boss who could help my career at the cost of my soul. He was Mr. Right. I could have magic, so why settle for less?
Just as I realized that, Josh got out of his seat, knelt in front of me, and opened a ring box.
At first, I was frozen. I wanted to say or do something before this went any further, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even hear what he was saying over the pounding of my heart and the rush of blood in my ears. When his lips stopped moving, I heard myself say, “I can’t,” and then my feet made the decision my brain couldn’t. I got up and ran from the restaurant.
The store was still open, so I hoped Owen would be there. I supposed it wasn’t utterly essential that I talk to him now. He’d be there tomorrow, and I could talk to him then. But something drove me to get there right away. I knew who was right for me and I didn’t want to waste a moment. After the way I’d left him, I didn’t want to give him a chance to dwell on the way I’d acted toward him. If I gave him too much time to think about it, he might come to hate me, and I couldn’t bear that.
I tried flagging down several cabs, but they all passed right by me. A motorcycle messenger stopped and said, “Do you need a lift? You look like you’re having an emergency.”
I knew I wasn’t supposed to trust strangers, but this was a crisis, so I said, “You know the bookstore on Seventy-third?”
“Yeah, I won the treasure hunt there today—hey, that’s where I’ve seen you before. Hop on.”
He looked familiar enough that I decided to go for it. I hiked the skirt of my dress up to my thighs to climb on behind him, and he handed me the spare helmet that was hooked to the seat. I held on to him for dear life as he tore down the streets, weaving in and out of traffic. I kept my eyes squeezed shut, sure we were going to crash at any moment, and before I knew it, the cycle came to a stop. “Here we are,” the driver said.
I dismounted shakily, handed him the helmet, then waved thanks to him as I hurried to the store’s entrance. It was more than an hour before closing time, and the store was still full of customers browsing the shelves. Our promotional efforts seemed to have paid off, I noted, but that wasn’t my focus. I needed to find Owen. I thought about going to the customer service desk and using the store’s public address system but decided that would be overkill. Instead, I headed toward the manager’s office with the hope that he’d be in there doing paperwork.
I didn’t realize that I’d started jogging—no mean trick in high heels—so I could get there faster until some of the patrons stopped looking at books and turned to stare at me. I forced myself to slow to a brisk walk as I wove through the aisles. When I had to stop to let a couple with a stroller get past, I turned just in time to see Owen coming down the stairs. Before I knew what I was doing, I called out his name.
He froze and frowned. “Katie?” he said. I wasn’t sure how much I actually heard over the background noise of the store and how much was just me recognizing my name on his lips. I rushed toward the stairs as he hurried the rest of the way down.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted when we met at the foot of the stairs. “I don’t know what got into me today. It was like everything that had happened with us was just a dream and reality was totally different. But I was wrong about what was real. I was wrong about Josh. I was wrong about you. You’re the one.”
This time, I let gravity have its way as it drew us together. Our lips touched, and it was more than I could have imagined. I felt like I was coming awake—truly awake—for the first time in my life.
Both of us suddenly pulled away from each other. “Katie?” he whispered.
“Owen?” I responded.
Then, simultaneously, we said, “Where are we?”
Chapter Nine
I felt dizzy and groggy, like I’d been suddenly awakened from a deep sleep and hadn’t quite caught my bearings while the dream world I’d just left still had a grip on my brain and the real world hadn’t yet come into focus. What was going on here?
Owen looked similarly confused. He clasped my hands in his and whispered urgently, “I think we need to talk.”
