I've been living on wishes, living on wishes all my life
And I wish I could make one
To make everything in your world right
I'm falling forward while you wait behind
Lost for your reasons and missing your time
And I, I'm…
Wishing for you
And I'm only an hour, not even an hour away
But you're keeping your distance
We're more than a million miles apart these days
I'm falling forward while you wait behind
Lost for your reasons and missing your smile
And I, I'm...
Wishing for you

***

"Oh, you've met?" Mr. Carter says in surprise while I stand here, dumbly staring at the man in front of me.

His deep blue eyes are looking intensely at me, making me feel like he can read exactly what's going on in my head. "A… very long time ago."

I finally manage to snap myself back to the present and paste a casual expression on my face. My stomach is churning to the point that I desperately want to get out of here and just… sit down. I clear my parched throat before forcing some words out. "How do you do, Mr. Shafer?"

One of his brows rises a fraction. He's still got that smile on his face. "I'm doing very well, thank you. And how do you do, Ms. Potter?"

My face begins to heat up with a combination of anger and embarrassment. I can actually feel my temper flaring, and I have to repress the urge to throw my champagne on that smirk. "Fine, thank you." I bite out, then turn to get the hell away from there, even for a minute. I can't take much more of this, not now. "If you'll excuse me, I need to - "

"Leaving already?" Pacey interrupts, the hint of a challenge in his voice. "The music's just starting."

I hardly manage to reply before he continues, his voice so low it nearly makes me shiver.

"Would you like to dance, Ms. Potter?"

I need to swallow before I can say anything. "Ah…" I hedge, the blood in my veins mutinously accelerating at the taunting lilt in his question. Damn him. I slant my head a little to signify agreement, but turn my eyes away and avoid letting him touch me as I precede him onto the dance floor.

His hand is warm as it enfolds my stiff fingers. He brings my hand to his chest and keeps his over it, his other one resting lightly low on my spine. I stare at his crisp white shirt and follow along with his movements, resenting every moment that I'm forced to spend in his presence.

The music is tortuously slow and intimate. I close my eyes and try to take it all in.

I'm dancing with Pacey Witter. After ten years of not knowing what happened to him, ten years of agonizing over the pain that I had caused him, ten years of wishing that things could have been different. Ten years of worrying about him. I'm dancing with him, while his date stares at me with daggers in her eyes.

"Where's your date?" He asks blandly, as if he couldn't think of a more boring topic to discuss.

I ignore the question and keep my eyes locked firmly on one of the buttons of his shirt.

"Oh, sorry," he feigns regret, "he's probably off filming on location in some exotic locale, waiting for his sultry star to tell him when she's ready for her close up." Each word comes out of his mouth with dramatic emphasis, sarcastic humor lacing his voice.

"Yup," he continues, shaking his head like he was thinking aloud to himself. "You're probably going to have to add a new wall to your place just so he'll have shelf space for all the Oscars he's gonna get for that."

"By the way, has he traded in his E.T. doll yet?"

Damn it all to hell.

"I was so stupid," I shake my head in disbelief, laughing mirthlessly. I can't even look him in the eye, afraid that I would lose control and lash out at him right here in front of my employer. "I actually worried about you."

That catches him off guard. I think I catch a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but it's gone before I can identify it for sure. And then his face is impassive again, unreadable.

"I actually cared about what might have happened to you," I add, my voice gaining strength with every word. The anger is taking over, overshadowing everything else - the shock, the confusion, the tiny flicker of joy I might have felt at seeing him again.

He laughs sardonically. "Thank you." The reply is terse and cynical.

I bite my lip to keep myself from saying anything further, hating myself for agreeing to dance with him. Hating myself for the betrayal I feel from the way he's changed.

Not another word is exchanged between us. My throat begins to ache with the effort of keeping back tears of frustration. My skin feels hot where he touches it.

Relief begins to flow through me as the music begins to fade. I search my brain frantically for an excuse I could use to get out of here, but every inch of my body freezes as I feel Pacey lower his head and lean in close to the side of my face.

My pulse pounds as I feel his warm breath against the side of my neck. The blood in my veins seems to have come to a standstill, and all the cells in my being become painfully aware of the heat that he radiates against my skin.

He trails a finger lightly along my earlobe, down the side of my neck to my shoulder. I close my eyes against the tidal wave threatening to take over inside of me.

"Nice dancing with you, Potter." He says softly. He caresses my cheek lightly with his thumb before walking back to the woman waiting for him and leaves me to stare after him, my heart thudding painfully in my chest.