Page 41 of I Dreamt That You Loved Me
Even so, I wavered. I was so tempted to lunge across the table, fist his shirt and kiss him dizzy that it was a miracle my ass stayed firmly planted in the seat.
I wanted him to push me against the wall and shove his tongue into my mouth while his hands roamed my body and my fingers tugged at the ends of his hair, begging for more.
I wanted to watch him sleep and I wanted to wake up in his arms and dance a drunken tango.
“Come home with me,” he said.
God. I wanted to. I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anyone. Not just physically, but in every way imaginable.
I wanted to stay up all night talking about books and music and art and life. Our hopes, our dreams, our fears and our triumphs.
I wanted to follow him around like a groupie and never miss a single show. I wanted to make him a shirt for every day of the week while he played his guitar and wrote music in the next room.
I wanted to be the girl he kissed good night.
I wanted something real and good. Something extraordinary.
I didn’t want to settle for crumbs. I wanted the whole damn cake and I wanted to eat it too.
But the universe fucked up. I couldn’t fall in love with him because that would hurt Annika so I needed to walk away now before it was too late.
I slid out of the booth and grabbed my coat, determined to stay strong even as my brain silently chanted,I want you. I want you. I want you.I want you so badly it physically hurts.
“I’m sorry. I can’t. Goodbye, Gabriel.”
Blinking back tears, I fled the diner and dashed across the street with a heavy heart and a millionwhat-ifsracing through my head.
When I got home, I found a note from Annika that extinguished my last glimmer of hope.
I’m staying with my dad for a while. I can’t be around you right now so please stay away and don’t try to contact me.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Three weeksafter Annika abandoned me, the storm of the century swept up the East Coast and dumped a foot of snow on New York City.
The snowstorm, accompanied by gale force winds and thunder, was biblical.
We lost power for three days and I had to finalize my designs by the flat, gray light of day and candlelight by night. Then a pipe burst on the roof and leaks sprang from the living room ceiling, so I had to shove all the furniture into the middle of the room and set out pots and pans to catch the overflow.
But despite the inconvenience, I had enough sweaters and blankets to keep me warm and I still had a roof over my head. I’d survived. Not everyone was so lucky.
According to the news, the death toll was rising.
When I finally ventured out to search for Chuck, waist-high snowbanks lined the streets, and it was so cold that a thin layer of ice formed on the woolly scarf wrapped around my nose and mouth. I traipsed all over the Lower East and the Bowery, checking homeless shelters and asking everyone if they saw the man in the photo. They all shook their heads and said no.
After exhausting my list of places where Chuck might have taken refuge, I was about to head home to call the hospitals when I remembered him mentioning a church on East Twelfth Street that he frequented despite being an atheist.
It was worth a shot so I trudged up Second Avenue with my face burrowed in my scarf.
“Cleo?”
I lifted my head. Gabriel and a guy with blond hair in a ponytail were standing outside Moishe’s, the kosher bake shop. Gabriel wrapped his arm around my shoulders and introduced me to his friend. “Cleo, this is Devin, my weed supplier. He’s a hell of a guitarist too.”
“You wanna get high?” Devin asked. His eyes were glassy, and he already looked stoned.
“Um, no, I’m good for now, thanks.”
“Where you headed?” Gabriel asked.
