Chapter 4 #2
“It is.” I pause, choosing my words carefully.
“To be honest, when you first told me you got engaged, I thought you were rushing into things. I had some questions… I still do, like how long you were dating before he proposed. I wish I knew more about him and how you two fell in love.” I look at her thoughtfully. “What makes him the one?”
She laughs lightly, but I notice her smile doesn’t quite reach her striking blue eyes.
It’s the smallest of details, but I notice it like I notice everything about her.
I’m not sure if she’s keeping something from me, or if I’m just making this up.
“Well, it was kind of… love at first sight. And you know, at our age, we don’t play around with all the games anymore.
You just get straight to business. You’ll understand when you get to my age sometime, baby. ”
“I don’t think love should be treated like a business deal, but maybe that’s just me,” I reply gently, then ask, “Have you met his family? Does he have siblings? What are they like?”
“Uh… you’re asking too many questions,” she hesitates, looking slightly taken aback.
“I just want to know more about my future brother-in-law and his family,” I say lightly, trying to keep the conversation friendly, but I don’t miss her hesitation.
Something definitely isn’t adding up, but I won’t force her to talk about it if she doesn’t want to.
We’ve always respected each other’s boundaries, though she can sometimes slack in that department.
I don’t hold it against her because I know she does it because she cares about me so deeply.
More silence lingers between us. I open my mouth, ready to speak, but then she shifts, clearly uncomfortable, then smirks as she throws out, “How’s that friend of yours… Dylan, right? You guys still dating?” Her voice takes on a mischievous edge.
I narrow my eyes slightly, seeing right through her tactic. “No,” I say. “We went on one date and decided we’re better off as just friends. Don’t make a big deal out of it, or I’m never telling you anything again…” I should’ve never told her that I’m sleeping with Dylan.
“Oh, but he likes you, I can tell. I have a sixth sense about these things, you know,” she teases, making me laugh nonetheless. It’s just a part of her charm.
“Of course you do,” I reply, playfully rolling my eyes.
She keeps going, nudging me about Dylan, trying to convince me to date him all the way to the fabric store.
“Thank God we’re here.” I sigh dramatically, relieved to escape the topic.
The fabric store is massive, with window displays covered in practically any fabric my heart could ever wish for.
If I need to find anything at all, this is the place to go.
We move toward the front door, which opens with a ding, and we’re greeted by an even wider selection of materials.
A friendly woman greets us from the counter, but I already know I won’t require any help. I can already spot things I want.
“I’m just saying, you don’t want to stay single into your thirties and end up like me,” she quips, a hint of self-deprecating humor slipping through. I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“Right, because your life is so horrible,” I joke back, but as she laughs, I know it’s not genuine.
I can tell the difference between her real laugh and the one she gives when she’s hiding something, but I let it go.
We start picking out the fabrics I need.
I’m torn between a few options, two of which cost considerably more than the others.
Still, with the detailing they include, I know they’re worth the money.
“Which ones do you want?” Abby asks, arching her brow. I sigh.
“These two”—I gesture toward the fabrics that have captured my heart—“are beautiful, but they’re—”
“Don’t look at the price tag,” my sister scolds me, “just get the fabric you want.”
“Are you sure?”
She gives me a firm nod. “Of course. I brought you here to get what you want. We’re not leaving without it,” she says, and then turns toward the clerk. “Excuse me, we’ll take these two!”
When the cashier rings up the total, five thousand, eight hundred two dollars and sixty-seven cents, I’m momentarily stunned.
“Whoa, Abby,” I say, eyes wide.
“Here,” she says proudly, handing her card to the cashier without a second thought.
The woman swipes it, and just like that, we leave the store.
I’m still stunned by the change in her attitude; she acted like thousands of dollars were nothing, but I suppose now that she’s marrying Calvin, that’s not a lot of money anymore.
“That was a lot of money,” I remark, still surprised. I know fabrics can get pricey, but I hadn’t expected the total to climb that high for what we bought. Abby just smiles.
“Not really,” she replies with a casual shrug. “Want to grab dinner before we head home?”
“Sure, how about that Thai place we both love?” I suggest, eager for some one-on-one time.
“No, let’s go to a sit-down restaurant. We’re celebrating. You’re home, and I’m getting married. Plus, Calvin already made a reservation,” she says, her excitement shining through.
“Oh, we’re having dinner with Calvin?” I blurt out, frowning, before I can stop myself. I cringe at my reaction. Of course, this is my luck. I wanted to spend some time away from him, yet he seems to follow me wherever I go, even if he’s not fully aware of it.
“What’s wrong with Calvin? Do you not like him?”
“No, it’s not that,” I quickly clarify. “It’s just… I don’t know him. I came here to spend some time with you, and we’ve barely had any time to do that.”
“Well, here’s your chance,” she says, encouragingly, but I sense an underlying insistence. “And we will spend some time together. So much of it, in fact, that you’ll be sick of me.”
I don’t say anything else; no words feel right for the moment. Instead, I focus on the streets around me, trying to find distraction in anything but the chaos in my mind. We drive the rest of the way in silence, tension hanging in the air until we pull up to the restaurant.
When we pull up at the parking lot, I’m surprised to see where she’s taken us. I recognize the sleek exterior and the minimalist green approach.
“This way,” she says, guiding us into one of Boston’s most exclusive, high-end restaurants, Luxe.
When I lived here, I always wanted to dine here, but getting a reservation practically requires selling an arm and a leg, and I need mine.
To my surprise, the restaurant is completely empty except for Calvin and a woman who, judging by her uniform, must be the chef.
They’re standing close, too close for strangers, sharing a conversation that feels almost intimate.
Calvin stands as soon as he spots us, his smile warm and easy.
“You both look lovely,” he says, kissing Abigail on the cheek.
Then he turns to me. The kiss on my cheek is brief, just a light touch, but it sends a faint warmth through me.
I know it’s nothing more than a friendly gesture, yet for a second, my skin tingles where his lips had been, the sensation lingering just a moment too long.
I force a smile, but my pulse quickens, a heady mix of desire and guilt twisting in my chest. How can something so innocent feel so dangerous?
“Thank you,” Abigail responds, smiling as we take our seats. They settle next to each other on one side of the table, leaving me alone across from them.
I glance around the empty restaurant. “Where is everyone?”
“I reserved the entire place for the night,” Calvin says casually, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “I figured we’d want some privacy. My brother owns Luxe, so it wasn’t that hard to arrange.”
Of course his brother owns the most popular restaurant in Boston.
Just then, the beautiful black woman standing too close to Calvin turns to us with a charming smile. “Hello, welcome to Luxe. I’ll be your chef this evening. Can I start you off with something to drink?” Her British accent glides effortlessly through her words, redirecting all of our attention.
“I’ll take the black-tie margarita,” Abigail says, then turns to me. “Do you mind driving?”
“Not at all. I’ll have water,” I request, eying the woman narrowly.
“We can all go in one car if you want to drink as well,” Calvin offers, and that’s a dangerous suggestion I don’t intend to play with.
“No, that’s alright,” I say immediately. “I’ll stick to water, thanks.”
Calvin shrugs. “Well, I guess you’ll have to babysit two people tonight.
I’ll have the blackberry bourbon sidecar.
Thanks, Lauren,” he says, making Abigail laugh a little too much, betraying her nervousness.
Something is off about the two of them, and I can feel it… I just can’t tell what it is yet.
A small silence follows. My gaze sweeps over the interior: dark wooden tables, contemporary artwork on the walls, and designer lights above us. It all screams wealth.
“So, have you been enjoying your stay so far? I understand it’s not Paris, but…” Calvin’s voice drags me back to reality.
“It’s been nice. Thank you,” I reply, mustering a polite but restrained smile. Before I can say anything else, Chef Lauren returns with a big smile on her face and our drinks.
“Here are your drinks. I’ll be back shortly to take your orders,” she announces.
“Thank you,” Abigail says as we all take our drinks. Right now, I regret not ordering an alcoholic drink. Surely that would help me deal with the situation a little better.
Once the chef leaves, I force my attention back on them.
Abby sits next to him, but they don’t seem too…
close. I’ve already noticed little things here and there, so I figure now is a good time to ask more questions.
“How did you know my sister was the one?” I ask, watching as Abigail downs her drink in a gulp.
“That’s an excellent question. Your sister is a truly stunning woman, and the more time I spend with her, the more the idea of marriage and children becomes appealing.”
“But don’t you think things are moving rather fast between you two?” I probe, only to get kicked under the table. Abby gives me a warning look to shut up. “Ow.”
“It’s alright, darling. I can answer that.” Calvin’s voice is calm and reassuring. “None of us has control over time. I’ve always believed that if you find someone you love, or even just like, you should seize the moment. Tomorrow is never guaranteed.”
The silence returns, but not for long. Abby starts talking about the wedding, but it feels like a feeble attempt to distract herself from something, only I’m not sure what it is yet. I observe in silence. Sooner or later, I’ll figure it out.
Shortly after, Chef Lauren returns with refills and takes our orders.
Abigail takes large sips of her drink each time I ask a question, slowly getting drunk.
Meanwhile, Calvin and I fall into an easy conversation.
He asks about my hobbies, whether I like Paris, and I can’t help but notice how genuinely curious he seems about me.
And right now, that feels like a deadly quality to have.