When Your Dreams Become Reality...Then What?

Please enjoy this excerpt from my upcoming release, Dream. Wake. Love. Repeat.

Cayman Drew made me feel like a little girl. We talked every day. I told him things only my brothers knew about me. He’d missed his calling. He could have been a journalist, drawing all kinds of information from me. Cayman surprised me with how much he shared about himself, too. My parents were getting antsy about my whereabouts. After work, I called during my commute but headed straight home and didn’t take their calls throughout the evening. I reserved evenings for my new friend. When he told me he wanted to get better acquainted, he meant it. It was a mission he intended to accomplish. I wasn’t naïve. The conversations were leading to something more, but Cayman kept his end game close to the vest. Who was I to complain? He was Cayman Drew, and I had the time.

“I’m going to ask you something.”

“OK,” I dragged out. “What’s the lead up about?” I pushed a forkful of mashed potato into my mouth.

“It’s a big ask.”

“You’re making me anxious, man.”

“Don’t be.” He stood up and shook his arms out to his side.

“Jesus, Cayman. Speak!”

We laughed together with an easy familiarity.

“I am performing in New York on New Year’s Eve, and I want you there with me.”

I sat the fork down and wiped the corners of my mouth. His eyes widened, and he clasped his hands together over his head. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his neck like a cartoon frog.

“You’re right. It’s crazy. It’s going to be cold and miserable out there. We’re practically strangers. Forget I asked. I’m sorry. Don’t get weird on me. Please.”

Get weird. His ask floored me. Flattered, but floored. Was I still dreaming?

“You want me to bring in the New Year with you? In New York City?”

His broad grin radiated through the phone. “Yes. I could use a friend there.”

A friend? The word deflated me. Did he use it to comfort me? Had I bared too much and landed in the friend zone? Would friends spend such a romantic holiday together? “You have complete agency over your happiness.” I heard Big D say. I straightened my back and looked directly into Cayman’s eyes.

“Will there be sex?”

The usually composed man plopped into a chair and puffed out his cheeks, then scratched at his temple in an equally exaggerated sigh. I could see an imaginary word bank form above his head.

“It’s not that serious. Forget I asked.” I wanted to crawl under the table out of sheer horror. He didn’t see me that way. Of course, he didn’t. He’d dated exotic women. Ones mixed with Filipino and Thai and Somalian. I was a boring, medium brown girl with a great haircut.

“No. No. Wait. Let me get my thoughts together,” he said.

“It’s all good. I overstepped. You’ve said enough.”

“No, I haven’t. I don’t want to say the wrong thing.”