My Dream Come True

“Spill the beans,” Lexi breathed.

We were at the café sitting in the two leather seats in the back. I kept looking up to see if he would walk in but he didn’t show up.

“He looks and talks exactly like Andrew Parrish,” I whispered. “He’s even got the birthmark on his collarbone!”

“You were checkin’ him out that much, huh?” she asked with a wink.

“No. Shut up. This is serious.”

“Are you sure you weren’t just dreaming?” she asked seriously and took a bite of the blueberry muffin between the two of us.

“Pretty positive,” I nodded.

“Did you give him your number?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not as bold as you Lex- Oh shit,” I squeaked.

“What?” she asked, looking around.

Andrew Parrish had just walked in, frowning at his phone.

“That’s him,” I breathed. “Shit. I didn’t think I’d see him so soon!”

Her eyes widened. “You’re right, Ro.”

He must have felt us staring because he looked over. I turned red as he smiled at me. I waved lamely and he got in line for his coffee.

“Oh. My. God.” Lexi was fanning herself. “Okay. So he looks like him and has his name. But can you be sure you’re looking at a Harold Crick?”

“Probably not,” I said. “That’s fiction.”

She arched a brow. “So is your story.”

“I don’t believe in magic, Lexi,” I said.

“But you write about it.”

“You don’t need to always believe in something to write about it,” I reminded her.

“Hmm, I don’t know if I believe that exactly,” she mused. “I mean, look at the Bible. People say they don’t believe in it yet they quote it word for word when it suits them. I don’t believe in love but my stories are full of it.”

“Yeah, you have a point there,” I said. “I read a quote by Stephen King that said something like don’t write for others, write for yourself. But we’re authors. I mean, sometimes we have to write for others if we want money.”

She snorted. “You think that’s why 50 Shades of Grey got so popular?”

I laughed, too. “Probably.”

I liked Lexi. She had long bleach blond hair and big blue eyes. She had been the cheer captain at her high school and throughout college but she stayed away from stereotypes. We had met through the writer’s group and came fast friends. Where I was reserved and quiet, she was loud and bold. Where her hair was bright, mine was black.

She groaned an hour later when her phone rang.

“Mark again,” she sighed. She didn’t answer but got a text. “Lexi, where are you?” she read in a high pitched voice.

“Just dump him already,” I said. “He’s an overprotective ass.”

“You’ve got a point there,” she said. “I should probably go, though. He said he’s got a surprise for me. If it’s another push up bra I’m gonna castrate him in his sleep.”

I laughed and gave her a quick hug. “I’ll see you soon.”

“You bet,” she winked and left.

I smiled and leaned back, pulling my laptop out of my bag.

“I thought she’d never leave,” someone said and I looked up. Andrew was smiling as he sat beside me. “If she had stayed longer, I wouldn’t get to say hi.”

I flushed. He was waiting to say hi to me?

“Um… hi,” I mumbled. “What brings you here?”

He laughed. “Coffee and free Wi-Fi.”

“Right,” I said. “Jeez I’m a ditz.” I shook my head. “How did office hunting go?”

“Poorly,” he answered. “But there’s this rundown building in a strip mall I might look into.”

“Hey, renovations are always the fun ones,” I pointed out.

He smiled at me. He was about to say something when my phone rang.

“God, not her. Anyone but her,” I moaned. He looked confused as I answered. “Hey, Mom.”

“Where the hell are you!?”

I rolled my eyes. “I told you I was going to the café to write.”

“Don’t give me that shit. We’re out of peanut butter!”

“Seriously? That’s why you called me? For peanut butter?”

Next to me, Andrew was laughing a little.

“Just get your ass home.”

I frowned. “Need I remind you that it’s my house? I’ll be back whenever I want. By the way, there’s peanut butter in the pantry.”

“Why the hell isn’t it in the fridge?”

“Bye, Mom.”

I hung up and glared at my phone, resisting the urge to throw it on the ground.

“Peanut butter crisis, huh?” he asked and I shook my head.

“That woman is going to drive me insane,” I sighed. “I love her but sometimes she’s just too much.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds to me like you could use a vacation.”

I scoffed, turning to my computer. “Yeah, right. I’d be too worried my mother would wander into the streets again demanding to be sent to Hawaii for her non-existent honeymoon.”

He laughed. “I was talking about a date.”

At first I didn’t comprehend what he said. Then I looked at him. He was waiting expectantly and I hesitated.

“A date?” I repeated.

“Yeah. You know. When two people go out for a nice dinner, maybe catch a movie. Sometimes they go to another person’s house but I’m not into one night stands.”

I blushed. “I know what a date is,” I said somewhat defensively.

“I sure hope so. From what your friend was saying, it sounds like you’re a writer.”

I cleared my throat. “Yeah, Lexi has a pretty loud voice. She’s a great person, though.”

“Still waiting on your answer,” he said after a few minutes of silence.

“Answer? Oh! The date thing! Um, sure.”

He laughed. “Are you always this scatterbrained?”

“No,” I said with as much dignity as I could. “I just… have a lot on my mind.”

“Sure you do,” he teased. “Well, are you free now? I heard of a great restaurant not far from here.”

I blinked a few times. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

I put my laptop away and he smiled, offering his arm. Ah shit.

“When you’re a lawyer, you can’t afford to waste time.”

“But apparently you can afford to be old fashioned,” I said in an offhand voice.

“My mother raised a gentleman,” he answered as we walked down the streets. “And a gentleman always takes a beautiful woman to a good meal on the first date.”

I smirked as he held the door open for me.

“Welcome to McDonald’s,” the boy behind the counter drawled. “What can I get you?”

“Just a chicken nugget meal,” I said.

“And a Big Mac for me,” Andrew said, getting out his card.

“This is a very fine restaurant, Mr. Parrish,” I said, sitting down at a booth while we waited for our food.

“It has great reviews on Yelp.”

I laughed. “How many states have you been to?”

“I’ve lost count,” he shrugged. “Started off in Mississippi, though.”

“So you’re slowly making your way back?”

He leaned forward. “It depends on whether or not I’ve found a reason to stay.”

I blushed. Come on, Rose. Witty comeback. Any second now. What would Violet say?

“Yes, with fine restaurants and rundown buildings, you can’t get any better.”

He laughed. “I like you, Rose Emerson.” I blushed. “What about you? Did you grow up in Oklahoma?”

“Nope. I grew up in Las Vegas.”

“Well there’s a strange move,” he said.

“My mom wanted to be closer to her family,” I said, popping a fry in my mouth. “Turns out it probably wasn’t a good idea.”

“Is that when she started abusing?”

I looked at him. “You have a strange concept of dates.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I’m getting a little heavy there, aren’t I?” He cleared his throat. “So are you a writer?”

I nodded. “Yes. I’m not very good, though,” I added.

“Every writer that says that turns out to be the best,” he said. “What’s your specialty?”

“Romance and fantasy,” I said.

“Romance, huh? With a tall, handsome mystery man with a debonair smile and a beautiful woman with black hair and blue eyes?”

I scoffed. “I don’t know if I’d use the word mystery. See, he likes to take ladies to a fast food joint that’s making the woman gain two pounds with each fry.”

He laughed. “She can walk it off later.”

My phone rang. “My mother again.” I answered. “What? I’m busy.”

She was crying and I sighed. “I can’t find him.”

“Find who?”

“Mr. Rogers!” she cried.

I shook my head. “Channel 192, Ma.” I hung up and shook my head wearily. “Looks like the damsel in this story is rude,” I said. “I keep expecting her to call and she’s in actual trouble.”

“Peanut butter again?”

“Mr. Rogers,” I said.

“Well, how about I walk you to your car?”

“I’m sorry,” I said when we got to my car outside of The Java.

He leaned against it with a smile. “How about you make it up to me with another da-”

My car alarm started going off and I laughed when he jumped a foot in the air. I turned it off and he shook his head.

“Jeez. Way to go, Mr. Smooth,” he muttered.

“Sure,” I said. “We can go to another fancy restaurant.”

“Your pick,” he returned. “But I’d like to get your number first.”

I blushed and handed him one of my cards.

“Fancy,” he said with a whistle.

“Thanks. My boss made them for me for having to deal with his stupid prank.”

“You’ll have to tell me about it.”

I smiled. “Sure.”

He smiled back and kissed my cheek, opening my car door.

“Good night, Miss Emerson.”

“Good night, Mr. Parrish.”