Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 124005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
“It’s perfect. Everything you’ve picked out for me is.” I finish the double Windsor knot with shaking hands.
“I got Shilpa’s approval.”
“But you picked it on your own.”
“Yeah.”
I smooth out his lapels and meet his gaze. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you actually like me.”
His smile is soft and maybe a little sad as his fingers wrap around mine. “I wish I could go back in time, Wills. What happened senior year—”
A knock on the door has his eyes sliding closed. “Dallas, sweetie, I have your corsage and boutonniere! I didn’t want you to forget them!” his mom calls.
“She’ll want to take pictures like a high school dance.” Dallas’s smile turns wry.
“That’s fair. I didn’t get prom pictures.” My eyes burn thinking about my eighteen-year-old self who longed for the Hollywood fantasy.
“You can come in, Mom!” he calls. “And me neither. I mean, I got pictures of myself, but I didn’t have a date.”
“Wanted to keep your options open?” I joke.
“Something like that.”
He seems as though he’s about to say something else when Diana opens the door. “Oh, now look at you two. Aren’t you just the most perfect couple?” She crosses the room and hands my corsage to Dallas and his boutonniere to me. “Can I take pictures of you putting them on each other?” She directs the question at me.
“Yeah, absolutely.”
“This night is a decade in the making,” Diana says.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“She never got to take these kinds of pictures at actual prom,” Dallas explains as he opens the corsage box.
My heart stutters as Dallas carefully slides my corsage onto my wrist and kisses the back of my hand, his lips as soft as his smile. Awareness settles in the pit of my stomach. He’ll probably kiss me tonight, maybe on multiple occasions. My hands are unsteady as I pin his boutonniere to his lapel.
Once we’re ready, I slide my feet into the heels Dallas bought to go with the dress and grab the matching clutch. He holds out his hand, and I press mine into his palm, letting him guide me across the cabin and onto the front porch. We spend fifteen minutes posing all over the place, Dallas’s body pressed against mine, his hands skimming my curves as his mom commemorates this moment. I’m hyperaware of every gentle touch, of the feel of his lips on my bare shoulder, of the light in his eyes and the warmth of his smile as he dips me with the lake as our backdrop.
This is what it should have been like. And isn’t that the mindfuck of all mindfucks?
Photoshoot handled, Diana gives us a slightly teary hug and kiss, and Dallas leads me to the car. He holds the door open and helps me into the passenger seat. My palms dampen as he takes his place behind the wheel.
“How are you feeling?” he asks as he pulls out of the driveway and turns right down the first side street. The high school is only a two-minute drive, but it’s up two hills and I’m wearing heels, so driving is more practical.
“Cool as a cucumber.” I’m reeling. And more nervous than I’ve ever been.
“Are you just saying that so I stop asking questions?”
I shake my head but give him the truth. “Definitely.”
He pulls into the parking lot. Other than a new sign over the door, it looks exactly the same.
Dallas cuts the engine and reaches across the center console to squeeze my hand. “We’re in this together, okay? You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” I open the passenger side door.
He moves with purpose to my side as I ready myself to get out of the car. When he holds out his hand, I take it. I feel like a high school senior again. I’m still that girl who didn’t fit in—who knew what people said about her and struggled not to be too much for everyone. I was too direct, too intense, too passionate. I shake it off. I can do this. It’s a handful of hours. And then I never have to do it again.
Dallas laces our fingers, and we walk up the front steps. We’re greeted at the door by former staff. My political science teacher envelops me in a hug. The first fifteen minutes are a whirlwind of embraces and congratulations. Most of my teachers adored me. I was the girl who always volunteered to help, turned in my assignments early, participated in class discussions, and made the honor roll.
We have our photo taken under the balloon archway, and then we head down the hall toward the gymnasium. It’s been transformed into a throwback to prom. For almost everyone else, it’s a delightful trip down memory lane, but I’m seeing it all for the first time. The walls are lined with collages chronicling our time at Huntsville High.