Don't Wake Me if I'm Dreaming by J. E. Chaney

waited…
    And waited…
    The phone chimed making my heart leap again.
    “ Not mad, just a little hurt. I love you. ”
    I texted him back. “ Will you forgive me pretty pleeease? ”
    “ I have 2. We have plans 4 2moro nite for our anniv. ”
    “ You still want to take me out? ”
    “ Plan changed to a fil-A date! ”
    “ Liar. I deserve it though! ”
    “ Not arguing that. ”
    “ I didn’t mean to say no. I’m sorry! ”
    “ Well that makes it all better. =/ ”
    “ I could always ask you to marry me? ”
    …
    “ Matt? ”
    “ I need to think about it first. ”
    “ Call me? ”
    “ Working got to run! ”
    I texted. “ I LOVE YOU!!! ”
    My stomach sank to the floor, thankful that he at least acknowledged me.
    It didn’t take long before the Vicodin put me to sleep.
    ***
    I dress in the Ivory lace dress I’ve saved for a special occasion, now seems like the perfect time to wear it. I return to the bathroom, and drop the rollers from my hair, and then pin it away from my face. Only a few strands hang, giving it a soft windswept look. I crimp my lashes then apply mascara. I glide my Little Red Dress lipstick over my lips, blot, and apply a clear gloss to seal the color. I spritz perfume on my collarbones and wrists and rub them behind my ears.
    Now, to stuff my compression wrapped foot in a shoe would be my only challenge. I try three pairs of shoes on before almost ripping my attire off and calling it a night out of frustration. Only my slippers are comfortable enough to wear. I finally settle for a black pair of slip-on shoes.
    I remove the ivory ribbon from my waistline, and swap it with a black satin ribbon from another dress instead, tying the outfit together.
    Late spring brings many muggy Carolina evenings. Tonight is no different. I grab a lightweight sweater and look over myself in the mirror finding satisfaction in my reflection, then turn off the light, and crutch myself to the living room.
    I hear Matt’s never changing signature knock. It is brief and informative that he is entering.
    “Hey, babe,” he says, closing the door. He’s holding a fresh bouquet of roses, red and white with baby’s breath.
    “Hi.” I smile, standing on one foot, balancing, to greet him. “You look handsome.” I seldom see him in a suit and tie, once at a wedding, and again at an award ceremony. 
    He approaches me, unsure of where to place his hands. “You look beautiful.”
    “It’s not too much?”
    “Nooo, not at all. It’s perfect.”
    I laugh breathily. “You look nervous.”
    “You just look so fresh and clean, I’m worried I’ll leave handprints on your dress.” He glances at the calloused stained hands of a construction worker.
    I laugh again. “Fresh and clean, as opposed to?”
    He smiles and places his hands on my waist. “You’re breathtakingly beautiful.”
    “And you’re very handsome… Are you going to tell me why I’m dressed like this?”
    “You’ll see soon enough,” he speaks, rather pleased with himself.
    “I hate surprises, Matthew!”
    “Ah, come on, you look perfect for the occasion.” He carefully kisses my forehead, trying not to upset my balance. 
    I lean in, holding my head against his lips and reach for his waist. “I love you,” I whisper.
    He places a soft hand on my cheek then draws our lips together. The kiss is tender, and his breath smells winter mint fresh.
    “Your lips are amazingly sweet, like a cherry mojito,” he whispers between our mouths. He kisses me again, this time much deeper, gripping me much firmer, pressing his body against mine.”
    “Do I detect a change of plans this evening?” I whisper, suggestively.
    He responds with his lips seeking my neck, taking in my fragrance, his grip tightens firmer yet.
    I gasp a little at the pressure.
    He eases his grip. “I’m sorry. You smell really good.”
    I laugh. “No problem.”
    He carefully lifts me into his arms, carries me to the kitchen, and places me on the counter with my legs