Page 22 of I Dreamt That You Loved Me
“Well, too bad. I want to give him the shirt because it’s so much better than what I got him. This is one of a kind. A Cleo Babington original design.”
I forced a smile. “Take the shirt and give it to your boyfriend. It’s yours. I made it more for you than for him anyway.”
The next day, I was halfway out the door when Xavi called my name. “Phone call.”
“Can you take a message?” I zipped up my parka and slung my duffel bag over my shoulder. “I need to catch my train.”
“I’m not your answering service.” Xavier shoved the phone into my hand.
I scowled at him and held the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“It’s me.” He paused. In the background, I heard Lou Reed singing, “Pale Blue Eyes.” “Gabriel.”
“Oh.” I cleared my throat. “Is everything okay? Is Annika okay?”
“Annika’s fine. She’s in the shower. I just wanted to thank you for the shirt.”
“The shirt is from Annika.”
“Yeah, I know, but you made the shirt. And it’s…I don’t even have the words to do it justice. It’s fucking incredible. Every little detail is perfection.”
“Well…thanks. I’m glad you like it.”
“Like it? I fucking love it. I want to be buried in this shirt.Thisis art. You should listen to Simone.”
“Maybe I will.”
We lapsed into silence but stayed on the line. I pictured his face. His jagged cheekbones. His crooked smile. His soulful eyes. A deep, dark shade of brown, like a triple shot of espresso.
I envisioned him lounging on the faded velvet sofa wearing the shirt I made him with his booted feet propped on the coffee table, listening to the Velvet Underground with his hand tucked under his head, phone pressed to his ear.
Just the thought of him filled me with such profound longing that a dull ache settled on my chest.
When the silence stretched out for too long, we both spoke at once and laughed. “You first,” I said. “What were you going to say?”
“I left a present for you,” he said, his voice low, a reminder that Annika was in the shower, and he shouldn’t have been calling me at all. “It’s in your bookshelf. So…I guess you’ll find it when you get home on Sunday.”
I swallowed. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“It’s just something I wanted you to have.”
“Okay, well, Happy Birthday. I need to?—”
“Wait. I just…I need to tell you something.” I waited, my stomach knotting at the gravity of his tone. I had a bad feeling that I didn’t want to hear whatever he was going to say. “I care about Annika. It was never my intention to hurt her but?—”
“Then don’t.”
I hung up and stared at the phone, shaking.
What would he have said if I hadn’t cut him off?
CHAPTER EIGHT
“That’sall you want to do?” my mom asked as she threw another log onto the fire. She turned to face me, her cheeks flushed, and brushed a lock of dark hair off her face. “I made all these fun plans for us tomorrow.”
My gaze drifted to the windows where branches, buffeted by the wind, scraped against the glass. They looked like long, bony fingers, eerie in the moonlight. I don’t know how my mom did it. I could never live up here alone in the middle of nowhere surrounded by all thisnature.
“You only have yourself to blame. You made this cabin too cozy. I’m not leaving this couch.” I pulled a knitted blanket off the back of the floral sofa and draped it around my shoulders like a cape as a barn owl screeched, a haunting high-pitched scream that raised the little hairs on the back of my neck. “It’s a big bad world out there.”
