Chapter 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

MOLLY

As soon as I get into my room, I close the door and pick up my phone. Ellen answers after only one ring. "Molls, are you okay? Why are you calling so late?"

I'm practically giddy as I tell her, "I think I just met my lumberjack."

"Wait, what? Are you serious? You met an honest-to-God lumberjack up there?"

I unzip my dress and step out of it while telling her, "He's not really a lumberjack, he's a barista."

"He makes coffee for a living?" She does not sound impressed.

"He's from Chicago," I tell her. "But he's lived in LA for the last ten years."

"Is he a starving actor or something?"

"No. He's a barista."

"Molly," Ellen sounds disappointed, "you can do better than that."

"I really like him, Ellie. He's kind and sweet, and oh, boy is he easy on the eyes."

"How old is he?" she demands abruptly .

I try to remember if he told me how old he was when he moved to LA, but assuming it was right after college, I tell her, "Thirty-two, I think."

"And he makes coffee for a living."

"Who cares what he does, Ellen? He's lovely."

"Does he live in Elk Lake? Because if so, you'll rarely get to see him. Maybe you should distance yourself now before you get in too deep."

I don't know why, but I thought my sister would be more open-minded than this. Although, as I recall, the thing she liked most about Kyle was that he was a lawyer. I remind her, "Kyle made a ton of money, and you know what happened there."

"Yes, but …" She seems to be at a loss for words, which is not like Ellen at all.

"Please be happy for me, Ellie. Trust that I can pick my own guy and just let it go."

"But you've just met him. How can you know he's your guy?"

Crawling into bed, I tell her, "I met him the night I got here. He's staying at the lodge for a work thing."

"What kind of work thing requires a coffee maker to stay at such a nice place?" Wow, Ellen really is a snob.

"I don't know the particulars," I lie. "This might be nothing more than a flirtation, but I'm having fun, so that's a good thing, right?"

"I guess …" Yeah, she's not convinced.

"How are you doing?" I hurry to ask. "Are you at Mom and Dad's?"

"I'm here."

"What about Henry? Have you heard from him?"

"Not a word."

She sounds surprised, so I tell her, "He's probably in shock."

"I don't know why. He's the one who broke up with me."

Nestling under the covers, I remind her, "Yeah, but he thought you were going to get engaged. I'm sure your lack of excitement threw him off. "

"You're saying this is my fault?" Ellen accuses. It's clear her dander is up.

I don't want to hurt her feelings, and I will always be there for my sister, but facts are facts. "Isn't it?"

"I thought you always had my back. I didn't expect this from you."

"Didn't expect what, Ellen?"

"Betrayal."

Oh brother, I thought I was calling my sister to have a good talk, but that's not how things are going. "Ellen," I say. "You knew Henry had children when you met him. Not only do you know his kids, but you love them. How in the world is it his fault that you decided you don't want to be with him because he's a great father?"

"I said I'd marry him," she practically spits.

"No one wants to feel like the person they love is ambivalent toward them. And I'm pretty sure that's exactly how you sounded when you half-heartedly agreed to marry Henry."

"You weren't there. You don't know how I sounded."

"But I know you, Ellie," I tell her firmly. "And from what you told me, Henry must be hurt beyond belief. If you want him back in your life, then it's on you to make that happen."

She huffs loudly in my ear before saying, "Oh, go make a cup of coffee." She hangs up without saying goodbye.

Even though I feel horrible for my sister, I have to laugh at such a ridiculous comeback. She must know this is her fault. That doesn't mean I don't love her and support her choices, but I think she's making a major mistake here.

I plug my phone into the charger before reaching over and turning off the light. Then I pull the covers up and force my sister's plight out of my mind. Ellen will decide whatever she decides, but right now I want to relive every moment of my night.

Closing my eyes, I drift off to sleep faster than I have in ages. I dream that I'm a princess locked in a tower watching as my handsome prince, Blake, rides across the countryside to save me .

He rides, and rides, and rides for what seems to be hours, but he never gets any closer. I call out to him, "Prince Blake, what's keeping you?"

I don't hear his answer because a storm moves in. It starts to thunder and rain. Blake keeps riding but the distance between us starts to increase. How is that even possible? Turning around, I run across the room and sit down at an ornate vanity. In true absurd dream form, I stare into the mirror and talk to it. "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the happiest couple of all?"

I expect it to tell me that it's me and Blake, but instead, it says, "Ronald and Olivia are the happy pair. It is a fairytale ending they will share."

Ronald and Olivia? What are they doing hijacking my dream? "You're wrong, mirror!" I pick up a hairbrush and throw it into the glass and watch as it shatters.

Undeterred, the mirror says, "Glass is easy to break, but the repair is impossible to make."

I shout, "What does that even mean, you stupid mirror?"

The voice in my reflection changes into my sister's. "Lies are lies that cannot mend. Truth untold will be the end."

It's been two years since Kyle left me, so I'm clearly not one to jump into a relationship. In all that time, I haven't so much as flirted with another man. But kissing Blake feels like coming home to a place I never dreamed possible.

Rolling over in bed, I think about how Blake lived in Brentwood, and is now in Wrigleyville. Neither of these locations suggest he's struggling for money. Then I recall how he confessed that he's not writing a book. There must be something he's keeping from me because both of his recent addresses suggest he's making more money than someone who pours coffee for a living.

The rest of the night is spent in one fever dream after another. In one of them, Blake is a frog who, no matter how many times I kiss him, refuses to turn into a prince. In another, he's Lord Farquaad from Shrek, and while I'm not a sizest, the fact that he's nearly two feet shorter than me leaves a negative impact .

Even in my sleep I can't help but wonder why I'm not having fabulous dreams of our future. And while there's a definite fairytale aspect to my visions, they're all dark and foreboding.

Is it possible that Blake isn't the man I think he is? Is he still lying to me about something?