Butterfly Dreams Read Online Free Page B

intruder. An imposter. Like I shouldn’t be there. I didn’t have a place.
    It took me a bit to feel comfortable. Accepted.
    But for now I would wait. Until just the right moment.
    Eliminating the likelihood for small talk before the group actually started. I could slip in and take a seat without really having to talk to anyone.
    “Are you here for the Mended Hearts group?”
    I hadn’t heard him approach. I had been too busy talking to myself and doing internal fist bumps.
    His voice was deep. Soothing. Like perfectly smooth honey.
    And familiar.
    I knew that voice.
    Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world…
    “Uh…” my voice trailed off into nothing and I stood there—my hands in my pockets, my wool hat pulled down over my ears, frozen in place.
    “Come on, I’ll walk in with you,” he urged, a hand on my arm. Pressure I could feel through layers of clothing. Fire on my skin.
    “Are you all right?”
    Wet knees, shallow breaths. Sweet, tempered words meant to calm me down.
    “No. I need a minute,” I snapped. I sounded rude. Cold.
    I couldn’t help it. Because I recognized that lovely, deep voice full of genuine sympathy and concern.
    It was a voice I’d never forget.
    My face flushed hot in the chilly air. Cheeks red with embarrassment.
    He snatched his hand away and took a step back. I chanced a look up, finally. Seeing his face for the first time.
    And then promptly wished I hadn’t.
    He was cute. Boyish even. With light brown hair on the longish side that looked as though he never bothered to brush it and blue eyes that probably sparkled when he smiled.
    He wasn’t smiling now. He was looking…
perturbed
.
    “Okay then,” he snipped back and I couldn’t help but smile at his attitude.
    He frowned, clearly thinking I had lost my mind. I probably had.
    Please don’t recognize me…
    “Do I know you?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.
    My cheeks weren’t just hot now. They had become a class-four forest fire.
    My one-time Good Samaritan opened his mouth but I ducked my head, breaking eye contact.
    Go away…
    “Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you in there,” he said after a beat and I sagged in relief. He didn’t remember me.
    I didn’t want him to. That day on the sidewalk in the snow had been bad. But unfortunately since then the days had gotten so much worse. The panic attacks. The anxiety.
    But he didn’t remember me.
    That was good. Anonymity was important for me.
    So why did I feel disappointment ring hollow in my gut?
    —
    After another ten minutes of silent and not-so-silent debating, I finally mustered up the courage to go inside.
    Walking into the crowded room, I didn’t spend a lot of time looking at anyone in particular. Not letting myself look for
him.
    I took off my coat and hat and hung them on the hooks lining the wall. I rubbed my hands together, trying to warm them, and beelined to the snack table.
    With slightly shaky hands I quickly poured myself a cup of tea into a Styrofoam cup and drank it in one gulp.
    I hated coffee so I was glad for the weird herbal tea and honey instead. I promptly filled up my cup again. I then started to load up a plate with delicious-looking pastries. Whoever was in charge of the Mended Hearts group sure knew how to do refreshments.
    Usually, at these sorts of shindigs, it was crappy Folgers blend and Walmart-brand chocolate chip cookies. I was in sucrose heaven. Even though I didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, I liked to indulge on occasion.
    Though I probably should be careful about the amount of sugar I ingest. Just the other day I had read an article about the hereditary predisposition to Type 2 diabetes. My hand froze in mid-reach.
    I remembered my maternal grandmother being diagnosed in her later years and having to take insulin. She eventually suffered from a stroke as a result of complications from her illness.
    I looked down at my junk-food-laden plate and lost my appetite. I quickly put the pastries back on