Save the Date! (11 page)

It was Saturday and there was the biggest, tallest cake Gemma had ever seen in person. She was standing in the kitchen, her hands on her hips, and her head cocked to the side. She had an enigmatic expression on her face, staring at the edible thing sitting on the dining table, her lips pursed.

Dixon walked in the kitchen from the entrance opposite of Gemma and upon seeing the look on Gemma's face, his lips quirked up. She looked as though she was just about to head out to the battlefield, weapon in hand, but unsure of how to interpret her situation. He could even detect a glimmer of worry in her brown eyes as she took in the sight of the cake.

"What's the matter, princess?" he asked, walking over in her direction.

Gemma's face turned dry as she regarded the man in front of her. "Don't call me that," she murmured before shifting her attention back on the cake.

"Why not?"
Dixon asked, feigning confusion. "As a couple who is getting married in a manner of weeks shouldn't we have terms of endearment for each other? I mean, you call me Code Blue."

"Code Blue is a codename, not a term of endearment," Gemma hastily corre
cted, glancing up at him.  Her eyes were sharp. At least looking at him would prevent her from staring at that
thing
in front of her.

"So what would you call me?"
Dixon asked, perking his brow, indicating that he was curious about the answer. "If we were really getting married, what would you call me?"

Gemma looked away, a light blush tickling the tops of her cheeks. "Well," she began, but faltered. She reached up and scratched the back of head, trying to buy time. "I've never really thought about it. I kind of like babe, but depending on how it's said, it could be cold and possessive. Not that being possessive is too much of a bad thing, but there's a time and a place for it, you know?"
Shit
. She was rambling. Why was she nervous anyways? "I don't know about honey or hon, but I guess it depends too. I mean, to me, the word seems warm, like it gives out warmth…" She let her voice trail off before dropping her head into her hands. "I don't know," she finally admitted. "I think that terms of endearment should come naturally. I don't think they should be assigned."

Dixon
started chuckling at the sight of her looking so worried about a simple question. "You look as though you just failed a test," he told her, reaching out and placing his hands on her shoulders and squeezing them gently. "It was just a question."

"What would you call me?" she asked, snapping her head up and locking eyes with him.

The question caught Dixon off guard and he, too, glanced over at the cake and pressed his lips together. "I was never big on pet names," he admitted, finally looking at her once again. Before Gemma could comment on the situation, he quickly gestured at the cake in the middle of the room. "So what's all this about, then? That's not our actual wedding cake, is it?"

Gemma glanced over, momentarily distracted. "Oh, so you don't know?" she asked, raising her brow, slightly surprised. "No, this isn't our
cake, it's one my parents had sent over from some famous bakery down town. The thing is, each layer is like a new cake. We're supposed to, like, taste them and then decide which one we want. Like a cake testing but here at home."

Dixon
's ears were as sharp as his eyes, and he could detect a hesitation in her voice. "Would you rather have it at the bakery?" he asked, trying to read any facial inflections that might give her away.

"No, it's not that," Gemma said, and then her eyes darted back over to the cake. "You see, I never really liked cake except for a few types, but I try not to eat it…"

Dixon didn't like games and couldn't figure out what Gemma was not saying, so his eyes tried to persuade her for more information. "Yes?" he asked, moving his hands in a 'come along' motion. "And?"

"Okay, I know what you're going to say but I
don't care," Gemma said. "But I eat a lot of junk food. I know this, you know this, everyone knows this. But there are certain junk foods that I cut out in order to eat the ones I do eat. I don't eat pizza, I've never drank soda in my entire existence because I hate carbonation, and that sort of thing. I don't really eat cake because I don't want to get –"

"If you say fat, I'm going to shoot you,"
Dixon said, his midnight blue eyes sharp. He rolled them at that moment and proceeded to head over to the cake, realizing that each layer was cut into bite-sized squares; he hadn't noticed before. "Now come on," he said, picking up a piece of the chocolate ice cream cake and heading back to Gemma. "Try it."

Gemma looked up into his eyes and realized he didn't expect any sort of argument, so she sighed and opened her mouth, rolling her eyes up to the sky. She tilted her chin towards him, indicating that she was ready for him to plop it in her mouth.
Dixon took a step towards her, a mischievous grin clearly on his face but completely missed by Gemma. He reached out towards her, but instead of dropping it into her mouth, he pushed it against the side of her face.

Gemma's eyes snapped open. "What the hell was that?" she exclaimed, feeling the gooey substance stick to her cheek. Even though
Dixon knew she was upset, he couldn't help but throw his head back and laugh – genuinely laugh – at the fact that frosting was currently rolling down the side of Gemma's face in slow motion. "Oh, you are
so
lucky my parents are gone, you know that?" She paused for a moment, looking at him and trying her best not to smile. He looked so beautiful laughing, with his cheeks lifting up and the skin around his eyes crinkling, that all of her efforts were in vain. "Actually, you probably aren't…"

The young woman headed over to the cake and grabbed a handful of the bite-sized pieces before throwing one at
Dixon and hitting him straight in the forehead. He stopped laughing momentarily, his eyes rolling up as though he was trying to see the cake on his forehead. He looked back at Gemma, complete surprise on his face.

"My parents love baseball," she informed him with a smirk. "Even though I love soccer much better, they taught me a few things about throwing."

"Oh, you are so dead," Dixon said, heading over to the cake as the food crumbled off of his forehead and hit the floor. He headed over to grab some more pieces before Gemma threw the other two she had and hit him perfectly in the cheek and neck.

This caused her to laugh, resembling
Dixon only moments ago, and Dixon took advantage of this opportunity by grabbing some cake and throwing it at her.

It was suddenly a game that they both seemed to enjoy. It didn't matter that the kitchen was getting splattered by cake and frosting, their clothes were dirty, their skin
covered with pieces of food, they seemed to be having fun. The laughter between them was loud and sincere, and the two seemed to be good sports despite the fact that Gemma was in her favorite pair of pajamas and Dixon was in a very expensive Armani dress shirt. There was an unwritten rule between the two of them as well; they couldn't leave the kitchen.

By the time Brent and Carlene Harrison returned home, the cake was splattered across the floor, the kitchen in complete disarray, and
Dixon and Gemma were sitting on the kitchen floor, completely disheveled, but laughing nonetheless. Brent and Carlene's mouths had fallen open upon seeing the sight in the kitchen. They weren't sure what to be more surprised about; the fact that cake was nearly in every crevice of their kitchen or the fact the two were laughing together.

Carlene glanced over at her husband who was currently standing next to her in the kitchen doorway. "Is the world ending, because I think Gemma and
Dixon are actually getting along," she noticed.

Brent opened his mouth with an answer, but realizing it probably wouldn't help any, slowly closed it and shook his head. "I wish I had a camera so I could take a picture of them and save it," he said quietly so the two messy people in the center of the kitchen wouldn't notice.

"I've got it," Carlene said, and then reached into her purse before slipping out her cell phone. She reached out and clicked a picture of her daughter and her faux-fiancé together. After inspecting it, she smiled, albeit with disappointment. "Oh, if only we could have sent the announcement to the paper tomorrow rather than weeks ago. This would have been a perfect picture."

Brent chuckled, placing his hand on the small of his wife's ba
ck, leading her away from the kitchen. "Oh Carlene," he said with a laugh. "You are so bad."

The next day, Sunday, Gemma planned to take Dixon to one of her favorite diners located downtown,
Johnny Rocket's
. The milkshakes were absolutely delicious, and Gemma always ordered a chocolate one every time she went there despite the fact that they were loaded with calories. She figured a little extra working out was definitely worth a
Johnny Rocket's
milk shake. She was actually excited to be taking Dixon to the place because as far as she knew, he had never been to
Johnny Rocket's
.

Currently, she was standing in front of her full-length mirror trying to decide what she was going to wear. It was still late summer
– just after Labor Day - and after glancing out the window to check out the weather, she figured it was still going to be hot even though autumn was right around the corner. However, she had noticed the leaves of the tree that stood outside her window was billowing slightly so there was a small breeze.

She was holding up a nice summer dress she had got
ten when she was in Hawaii a few years ago that she was planning to pair with a denim jacket and flip flops should she choose to wear it. Gemma cocked her head to the side and pressed her lips together.

Goodness, Gems, you're concentrating so hard on your outfit
, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Gillian's murmured in her head.
You never spend this much time trying to figure out what you're going to wear on a particular day.
The voice suddenly turned mischievous.
Is this a date?

"This is not a date," Gemma said flatly, completely ignoring the way her cheeks crimsoned at the mere thought of sharing something like a date with Code Blue.

Then why are you actively considering a
dress
?
the voice asked.
A dress, Gems. When was the last time you wore that dress where you
didn't
want to impress some guy with your bountiful assets.
Gemma was sure that if the voice had a face, it would be winking right now.

"Fine," she said. "I won't wear the dress."

Why not?
the voice asked, completely indignant.
He'll totally love it on you! Look at it. It's low, showing off some cleavage, but not in a slutty way, and the hemline reaches two inches above the knee. Plus, if you put your hair in that messy bun thing you're so good at, you'll be able to show off the upper half of your back.

"Hmm…" Gemma said, allowing her voice to trail off. She looked at herself in the mirror. "You really think he'll like me in it?"

The voice ignored the fact that Gemma actually cared what he thought about her, and decided to reassure her.
Absolutely!
it exclaimed.
He would have to be blind not to like you. That, or gay. Now put it on before you waste any more time!

Gemma headed into her bathroom and quickly changed out of her pajamas and in
to her dress. As she got herself ready, she thought back to yesterday and her smile seemed to glow with warmth. After they realized her parents were there, they both started to clean up the kitchen. It took them a good two and a half hours, but the time seemed to fly, probably because they were having so much fun with each other. When asked what cake they chose, Dixon let Gemma pick, and after a quick conference with her fiancé, they both decided on carrot cake. Out of all cakes, that was Gemma's favorite, and from what Dixon tasted of it, he seemed to agree with the choice.

When Gemma had finished, she grabbed her purse and headed down the stairs. There,
Dixon was waiting for her wearing a forest green t-shirt underneath a beige jacket made up of thin material so he wouldn't get too hot, plus jeans and tennis shoes. His hair was messy and fell in his face, and he hadn’t actually shaved, but he pulled off the rugged hillbilly look better than anyone. For whatever reason – one that Gemma would not acknowledge – she began to feel more and more attracted to the man with each passing day.

"So are you ready?' she asked him, and her lips couldn't stop themselves from quirking up into a smile.

He nodded. "Yes," he said and began following her out the door. "Though I must admit I am kind of worried. This place serves edible stuff, doesn’t it?"

Gemma rolled her eyes, grabbing her keys from a plaque adjacent to the door. "Oh shut up," she said. "You'll like it. I promise."

It was only a ten minute drive to
Johnny Rocket's
and surprisingly, Gemma had allowed Dixon to have control of the radio. She actually found herself favoring the
Rolling Stones
and she had always been a
Beatles
fan.

Once they were seated,
Dixon looked around. The restaurant was predominantly red and white, with framed advertisements hanging around the room from the 1950’s. Even the waitresses and waiters wore white with splashes of red. It was a restaurant with a theme. Well that was certainly interesting.

"What do you recommend?"
Dixon asked, flipping open the menu.

"It's mandatory that you get a shake," Gemma told him, her menu set down. She already knew what she wanted. "But it depends on what you're in the mood for food
-wise. Like, I'm getting the cheeseburger, but I also really like the egg salad sandwich, and if you like chicken, there are good chicken sandwiches too, so it's completely up to you."

After
Dixon ordered a strawberry shake and chicken sandwich, Gemma put her order in and the waitress left. For a moment, the two sat in a comfortable silence, both glancing around them, watching the people that came in and out of the restaurant. The silence itself was comfortable and in no way tense, and Gemma thought that the two of them had come pretty far since their first meeting. It was then that she realized she didn't know much about him and that threw her off.

"So," she began, catching his attention and causing him to lock eyes with her. "Tell me
about your life in Atlanta. Do you miss it?"

The question surprised
Dixon, but her tone seemed sincere enough for him to feel that he could share some aspects of his life with her. "I miss it, yes," he said after taking a sip of the water the waitress first brought out before taking their order. "I prefer the weather there to here, as crazy as that sounds."

"I agree," Gemma said with a small smile. "I love the rain."

Dixon felt himself smile in return and nodded. "Yeah, but besides that," he continued, and then cut himself off. Did he miss anything else? "I mean, I miss my partner from the FBI. We were good friends, and I’m not the type to make friends easily.. And I miss the job itself. It was different from the CIA in ways I can't even explain, but this has proved to be a good learning experience."

"What about your family?"
Gemma asked. "Are they all there, or are they here?"

"They're down
there," Dixon said. "I miss them… somewhat. I'm kind of glad I don't have to worry about my brother coming over unannounced."

"Aw," Gemma murmured. "H
e’s probably just worried about you."

"More like worried about himself
," Dixon said.  His eyes were far away and his voice was low.

"What about a girlfriend?" Gemma persisted,
deciding to change the subject.  He hadn’t mentioned a father or a mother, and she didn’t feel it was her place to bring them up unless he did. And he didn’t speak too warmly about his brother, either.  Perhaps family wasn’t the best topic to chat about while waiting for their food.

Dixon
glanced away. "I had one of those," he said in his usual crisp, cold tone. "And now I don't anymore."

"What happened?" Gemma
murmured, her voice soft when she realized Dixon's demeanor had changed. It was as though she was preparing herself in case Dixon snapped at her.

Which was probably a good idea.

"Listen, I don't want to talk about it," he said, his tone sharp, his walls back up. "We had a falling out; it was mutual. She didn't want to come here and –"

"Did you tell her you loved her?" Gemma asked, completely cutting
Dixon off. "Maybe she didn't come because she wasn't sure how you felt about her."

"She never told me she loved me,"
Dixon said. "It was a thing we had and it worked."

"Well, it doesn't sound like it worked," Gemma said, feeling herself get defensive upon hearing the sharp tone
Dixon was using with her. "Or else she would be here with you right now. Did you guys talk about marriage?"

The words Gemma had used were probably not the
smartest choices of diction, because Dixon's eyes narrowed into glaciers as he regarded her.

"We never talked about marriage, no,"
Dixon said, his voice low and articulate. "But I do know something about the process, and I know something about myself. If it wasn't for this job, I would never
ever
marry someone like
you
."

Gemma felt like he had slapped her across the face
, and her face burned.

The lunch was silent, and this time, the silence was filled with excruciating tension.