Page 86 of Heartbreak & Cupcakes
I sat scrolling through picture after picture of the two of us. There was a series of shots when we got out of the car and walked the red carpet. I hadn’t noticed his body language at the time. The entire thing had been sort of overwhelming. But now I saw that he was shielding me, keeping his hand securely on my back as we walked past the photographers.
Inside there more shots of us. A dozen or so of us during the cocktail hour. Even more when we were seated during dinner. And then another series of us leaving the event.
I wasn’t sure if it was the power of suggestion or what but I definitely saw what Charli was talking about. He was putting off a primal energy that I’d been totally oblivious to the entire evening.
Well, not the entire evening. I’d become very aware of it once we got home. And I guess I’d sort of sensed it before, I’d just had no clue that it had been directed at me.
I still couldn’t be positive that it was. But these pictures definitely made it seem that way. The other thing I noticed was that we actually made sort of a cute couple. I wouldn’t have thought that was possible since Alex, was, well, Alex but we didn’t look half bad together.
No. I quickly cut off that line of thinking. There was no way that I could go down that road. We werenota couple. I’d seen the pain in Alex’s eyes last night. He’d told me that he wasn’t available. Physically, mentally, or emotionally. I needed to believe him.
The server came, interrupting my internal reprimand, and delivered our meals. When Charli and I went out to eat, whoever arrived first put our order in. That was one of the many benefits of being friends since you were three, you could order for each other.
As much as I wanted to stare at the pictures and pick apart what each look, each touch, each gesture meant, I set the phone down. Obsessing over them wouldn’t change anything.
Last night may have been a fairytale, but now I was back to living in reality.
“Did you see the one when he’s whispering in your ear? That’s my favorite,” she enthused as she stuffed her mouth with French toast.
Well, looking at one more wouldn’t hurt.
“No.” I shook my head.
She grabbed the device and pulled up the picture.
In it we were seated at the table and I was looking down. Alex’s arm was around the back of my chair and he was leaning in close saying something in my ear. The image appeared to be so intimate. I remembered the moment; it was when he’d told me that the men at the table reminded him of Muppet characters.
She pointed to the snapshot. “That’sthe picture everyone is talking about.”
“People are talking about these pictures?”
“Have you been living under a rock this morning?”
“I was baking.” Which I supposed was my version of living under a rock, but still.
Whenever I felt happy, sad, confused, mad, or any other emotion, I baked. This morning had been a whirlwind of emotions and now I had two dozen chocolate chip cookies, four pans of brownies, and a dozen cinnamon rolls to show for it.
“What are people saying?” I asked.
“Excuse me?” I looked up and saw a woman who looked to be in her early twenties holding a paper with Alex and I on the front page. “Is this you?”
My eyes shot to Charli. This wasn’t the first time we’d been together and one of us had been recognized. It had just always been her.
“Yes,” she answered for me. “It is.”
“Are youdatingAlex Vaughn?” the young woman asked me in disbelief.
I didn’t blame her. Why would anyone think I would be dating Alex Vaughn?
“No. I um…” What was I supposed to say? If I said that I worked for him, that might come off like an escort, which we’ve already established I was not. I didn’t want to say I was a stand in and try to explain how I’d ended up being an understudy for the evening. So instead, I blurted out. “I won a contest.”
Beside me, Charli choked on her mimosa.
The girl’s forehead wrinkled, and her expression changed. “Oh …I didn’t know there was a contest.”
“Yep. And I won,” I doubled down on my lie, and I could feel my neck heating. It always did that when I told an untruth. If I kept going, I’d break out into full-on hives like I had at fourteen when my dad found a bottle of Jack under my bed and I told him I was holding it for a friend named Sam.
It took two hours of interrogation before I finally cracked and told my dad that Sam was just a fictional scapegoat and I’d actually got it from my friend Kristy who had stolen it from her parents’ liquor cabinet. I’d been grounded for a month and it took almost that long for the lie-rash to clear up.
