Heart

Twenty-One

****Oh my goodness, guys! Y'all are getting so close to the end of the story!!!!****

The next day probably could have gone a bit smoother, if I hadn’t dreamt of kissing Alan the night he saved me.

Yeah. You read correctly.

My dream wasn’t all that exciting, in terms of action; in terms of romance, however, it was quite exciting. My mind had just replayed a few memories that Alan and I had shared over the years, like hundreds of weekends chowing down at a diner, and movies watched both in living rooms and in the cinemas. And then my mind had also made up some memories, like us slow dancing across a large room. He wore a flashy suit that made my heart flutter like a caged canary, and I wore a pure silk dress that swished around my ankles as we twirled around. My imagination had also placed us in a huge master bedroom that looked like it belonged in a medieval castle. We were lying on the bed--but we weren’t doing what that image implies, I swear. We were just talking. . .and laughing . . . and then it happened: Alan cupped both sides of my face with his hands, pulled me close, and covered my mouth with his own. It had felt so blissful, perfect, and wonderfully real. And when I woke up, my heart was fluttering like it had in my dream, and I was also half-hoping it hadn’t been a dream. I had wanted it to be real.

Throughout the day, Alan had hardly spoken to me. He hadn’t been unfriendly, just quiet, and I was pretty sure it had something to do with that little episode in the car yesterday. I had hoped it could be forgotten, but of course it couldn’t. Not when Alan was embarrassed.

And especially not when every time he walked too close or accidentally brushed my arm it reminded me of my dream. Boy, did I blush big time whenever that happened.

About the only thing we talked about was my parents. I had expected them to freak out when they came back to consciousness, but they hadn’t. Alan had been correct--my parents hadn't the slightest clue about my little fan breaking into our home last night. Morning breakfast had been normal; Mom cooked and Dad had just been finishing up his meal when I arrived.

What do you know?

Now, after a day at school, I was sitting on the couch in the living room, brooding. Usually Al came in for a while when he dropped me off, but he hadn’t today. He’d seemed to be in a hurry to get home. And . . . I missed him.

Mom popped her head around a corner. “Hey, sweetheart,” she chimed, “I fixed a little snack. Do you want some?”

I rolled my head over the back of the couch to meet her eyes. “What snack?"

“Fresh strawberries with cream.”

I shrugged. “Sure, whatever.”

She disappeared only for a moment, and then returned with a plate full of the snack and handed the offering to me as she sat down. I set it on my lap before I sampled a slice.

“Something wrong, hon?” she asked.

“Nah. Just tired.”

Mom grabbed her own share of the snack and chewed, turning her attention to the TV. I knew she didn’t really buy it, but I wasn’t going to prove her right. I didn’t feel like having a conversation.

A car door slammed outside, causing my attention to turn to the window. The curtains were drawn so I could only see the silhouette of someone as they walked past. I stood before the doorbell even rang, and strode down the hall to answer it.

My heart sank. Detective Novak.

“Evening, Miss Fraser,” he greeted formally, “Let me come in, please.”