“Then what is it? Last night, I thought we had something. I mean, we did magic together. It was the most amazing night of my life. And now you won’t even look at me. Do you have regrets? Not that there was anything to regret. I guess I can see being a little freaked out by the magic. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around it. I almost thought I’d dreamed it, and with the way you’re acting, maybe I did. Don’t you remember it?”

“Magic …” I whispered as images sprang to mind. Sparks and snowflakes danced through the air, and I’d felt so alive. But it had just been a dream, hadn’t it? The dream had reflected my fears of the power my employer had over me. Then again, he’d also dreamt it. That had to mean it was real, right? Unless maybe his dream was about his power over me and we just happened to use the same imagery in our dreams about the same subject. “I have to go,” I said, pushing past him. “I have a date tonight. With my boyfriend.”

He stepped out of the way, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay. If that’s the way you want it, I can understand. It’s up to you. I’d just thought … I’d hoped …” He shook his head. “I thought you were different.” Then he walked away before I could make my own dramatic exit.

I should have been happy to have an end to that particular dilemma, but my heart was heavy as I headed home to get ready for my big date. At the end of this evening, I’d be engaged. This was what I’d wanted for so long. Once we were married, I wouldn’t have to work in the store anymore. I’d be free.

Funny, that wasn’t supposed to leave me weighted down with gloom.

*

That evening, I was dressed up in my best little black dress and high heels with my hair up and my nails buffed when Josh came to pick me up for dinner. He wore a tuxedo and had yet another bouquet of flowers for me, this time red roses. I had that same burst of love for him when I saw him that’d I’d had on the stairs that morning, and all the gloom dissipated. I loved him and wanted to marry him. That was the only thing I’d ever wanted. I threw my arms around him and kissed him.

“Well, that’s more like it,” he said, and I got the strangest feeling he was talking more to himself than to me.

A cab waited for us at the curb and whisked us off to a fancy, romantic restaurant. This was the kind of proposal I’d hoped for when he’d made the first offhand remark about getting married. It had all the right ingredients, right out of a diamond commercial. I wondered when the big moment would come. Probably with dessert, I decided. That seemed to be the traditional way of doing it. Would he just get out the ring and kneel, or had he set up some fancy presentation where the ring would be in a piece of cake or a glass of champagne? I could barely focus on the meal from thinking about what was to come.

But then as the meal wore on, my enthusiasm gradually waned, even though we were surrounded by soft music and candlelight. I found myself looking across the table at him and getting that old feeling that I was looking at a stranger. I’d forgotten about that in all the excitement. Had I been excited about him proposing, or was it just excitement from being proposed to? Was this what Florence had meant about trusting my gut, focusing on my feelings instead of on the situation? It was so confusing, like I was feeling two completely opposite things at the same time. How could I be madly in love with Josh and wanting to marry him while still thinking of him as a stranger I didn’t particularly like?

I remembered other things as the evening continued. Just before that moment when he’d rescued me on the stairs, there had been something I was upset about, and it had to do with Josh, not Owen. I hadn’t been fleeing up the stairs from Owen, I’d been fleeing down the stairs from Josh after hearing him talk to Florence. She’d said something about Mr. Wrong and Mr. Right, and she’d been talking like these were roles we were all playing.

Then I realized what all this reminded me of: that movie Florence had selected for us to watch. There was the safe guy and the right guy, but the safe guy wasn’t even truly safe. He was someone to settle on, but there were warning signs and red flags about what life would be like with him. A marriage with him might not be bad, but the heroine could never really be herself while she was with him. There would always be a part of herself she’d have to deny, and that would be tragic. Choosing the right guy might feel risky, but the payoff would be huge.

The waiter brought out a small cake with sparklers on it, and the sparklers triggered another memory, of sparks dancing in the air as Owen and I ran through the bookstore. The memory was just as vivid as these sparklers in front of me. It hadn’t been a dream. It had been real. I’d wanted to kiss Owen after that, more than I’d ever wanted to kiss Josh—or anyone else. He wasn’t Mr. Wrong, the skeevy boss who could help my career at the cost of my soul. He was Mr. Right. I could have magic, so why settle for less?