Page 18 of Forgotten Dreams

“But what if we do?” my father asks. I get up on my feet despite my weak knees and go over to him. “What if we lose you?”

“You can’t ever lose me.” I grab his hands. “I’m your daughter.” He takes me in his arms, and I hug his waist. “I’m your daughter,” I repeat.

“I love you, Sierra. You’ll never, ever understand just how much we both love you.” He kisses the top of my head. “Never.”

Chapter 9

Caleb

“What do you think?” I ask Theo when the painter finally leaves the bedroom and heads out and we step into the room.

“I think I’m going to spend the weekend sleeping for forty hours,” he huffs as he walks into the room. “I didn’t think we could finish this in less than seven days.”

“Ye of little faith, my friend.” I smirk at him, and he rolls his eyes.

“I have all the faith in the world. I’m just not as faithful as you, then. I never thought we would get it done. Fuck, you must have worked eighteen hours a day to make sure it was done.” He looks around the room, seeing the chandelier I got rushed in for this room. It’s an antique French cage style. The crystals hanging have a rainbow effect when the sun hits them, and when it’s turning on, it looks white. It’s all golden brass, and it looks like it was hanging in here the whole time. She didn’t even approve it, but with the grandness of the room and the way the ceiling molding was, this was the only light that would do it justice. I just hope she likes it, and if she doesn’t, I’m going to have to hide it in my garage and hope no one ever notices. “What time is she set to arrive?” he asks, and I take out my phone and look down, seeing she’s about half an hour late.

“Thirty minutes ago,” I tell him, and he nods.

“I’ll get out of your hair, so you can woo her with your brilliance.” He picks up his tool chest.

“I’m not wooing anyone.” I watch him smirk.

“You kept taking pictures every fucking hour of the work we were doing and sending it over to her.”

“So?” I put my hands on my hips. “She’s a client. I was keeping her informed.” It is the truth; I obviously didn’t tell him that she never got back to me every time I sent her an update.

She got back to me twice in the last seven days. Once was to choose the color of the paint she wanted for the room and the bathroom. Even though she was going with white for now, she went with the soft tone of white, not the white you see in sterile environments.

The other time was to let me know when she would be arriving since I was the only one with her key and she didn’t have an extra one.

“Whatever lets you sleep at night, man.” He turns and walks out of the room. “I’m leaving this in the kitchen since I’m going to be here on Monday,” he tells me, and I nod as he walks down the steps toward the kitchen. A couple of minutes later, I hear the front door slam shut, and I look out to see him walking to his truck. He gets in at the same time I see her black Audi arrive at the house. She reaches into the passenger seat to grab her purse before leaving. I take a minute to take her all in. Her blond hair is loose and down, blowing softly in the wind.

She’s wearing a pair of blue jeans ripped in the knees and frayed at the bottom. She wears a tight white shirt, her neck and the top half of her chest exposed. A long-sleeved, thick sweater hangs to her knees, open down the front. Her cuffs are rolled once, the sweater the same color as the little booties she’s wearing. She walks up the pathway and must sense eyes on her. She looks up and I smile down at her. She gives me a soft smile and a nod before disappearing on the stairs.

I hear the front door open, and a couple of seconds later, I hear her footsteps coming closer and closer as she walks in the open double doors. “Hi,” she says, and all I can do is look at her. “I’m really glad it was you looking down at me and not a ghost.”

I can’t help but throw my head back and laugh. I’m trying to get my heart rate to a normal pace and not elevated because she just walked into the room since I’ve been looking forward to this moment for the last seven fucking days. “Not the ghost-friendly girl?”

“I’m friendly with ghosts who don’t live in my house,” she counters, looking around the room. Then her eyes go to the chandelier, and I pray to everything when I hold my breath, waiting for her reaction. “What is this?” she gasps and points up to it when she gets in the middle of the room and stands right under the fixture I had put in. With the way the sun is coming into the room right now, you can see spots of blue and even pink.

“If you don’t like it, we can switch it out,” I state, trying not to get my feelings hurt.

“No.” She folds her arms over her chest. “It’s perfect.” I breathe a sigh of relief when she says the words. “I didn’t know what type of lighting I wanted for this room, but this is perfect. Even better than I could have imagined.” She gives me a side smile, and I think it was all worth it. She looks at the floor. “I can’t believe the floors look so good,” she gushes over the original flooring that we sanded and then varnished.

“I sent you pictures.” I wait for her to give me an excuse for why she didn’t get back to me, but she doesn’t even acknowledge that she got them. She just nods as she looks over to the side where the bathroom is. Her feet now move toward the bathroom. “So she doesn’t even try to deny she ignored every single message I sent her.”

She looks over her shoulder, probably shocked I’m calling her out on it. “I wasn’t ignoring you, there just was nothing to say.”

“Wow.” I walk toward her as she stops before going into the bathroom. “Is that what you’re going with?”

She turns to me. “I’m not going with anything.” She pretends she has no idea, but I can see she’s fucking with me. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She tilts her head to the side, and it’s taking everything I have inside me not to bury my hands in her hair, fisting it and keeping her head exactly in that position when I kiss the ever-loving shit out of her. “Now, can I see my bathroom, or are we going to stand here and talk about you being butthurt that I didn’t fawn all over your messages and stroke your ego?”

She turns and leaves me with my mouth hanging open. My fingers itch to grab her hand and yank her back to me. She steps into the bathroom, and I hear her gasp out. “You did not send me these pictures!” she shouts, sticking her head back out. “And you did that on purpose.”

“Did I?” I point at myself. “I don’t know what you mean. I mean, if you wanted to get pictures of the bathroom, all you had to do was ask me, and I would have sent them to you.” I did in fact not send her one picture of the bathroom. I sent the before pictures from the demolition but didn’t send her another one. I sent her a picture of the marble I was putting in and the faucets I chose. Other than that, she hasn’t seen anything.

She glares now and I can’t help but think, even with the glare, she is hands down the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. “Well played, Mr. Walker,” she retorts, turning and walking back into the bathroom and my dick goes to half-mast. “Well fucking played.”

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