Only in Your Dreams (The Mountains are Calling #2)

21. Finley

“So is he a good kisser?” Nora asks on Monday morning over breakfast. Her mom has the kids, so it’s just us, and I’m grateful for it. As much as I love my adopted niece and nephew, I have so much I need to discuss with my best friend.

Nora waves her hand dismissively and takes a sip of her coffee. “What am I saying? Of course he’s a good kisser.”

I pick up my own drink to hide my smile—and hopefully the blush creeping into my cheeks. For a long moment, I don’t say anything, keeping her in suspense.

Nora leans forward until she’s practically lying on the table, her hair slipping over her shoulders and narrowly missing landing in a puddle of warm maple syrup. “Finley.”

“Yes, he’s a good kisser,” I finally relent, losing myself in memories of the weekend. Of him . His mouth and his hands and his words and all the things he told me that I never would have been able to dream of hearing.

“I don’t know how you got so lucky to snag a man with a secret tattoo,” she says, sounding reverent, her eyes wide and dreamy.

A flutter starts deep in my stomach just thinking about that. Thinking about Grey showing up at a tattoo shop, asking the artist to ink my favorite flower onto his skin. About how, for years, every time he undressed, he saw it and thought of me.

Nora’s mouth splits in a grin. “You’re beet red.”

I touched that tattoo with the same reverence Nora used to talk about it. I felt the ridges of his ribs under my fingertips, felt him tremble beneath the movement. In all my life, I’ve never felt that powerful, and I doubt I will again.

Behind me, I hear the front door of the restaurant open, squealing on its hinges ever so slightly, and Nora’s eyes widen at whoever walks in.

“Red alert,” she whispers just as someone steps up behind our table.

It must be that my brain is so firmly wrapped around Grey that I expect to see him when I turn around, a smile curling up the edges of my mouth. But it falls when I see a face just as familiar, but much less welcome.

“Gus, hey.”

He looks nervous, brow pinched, hands balled into fists and shoved into his pockets.

“I was just heading over to the shop to talk to you, but I saw you through the window.”

Everything about the moment is so confusing that it takes me a minute to understand.

Nora saves me. “We were just finishing up here, but we have plans after this.”

We don’t, but she’s giving me the option to get out of this conversation with him if I don’t want it. Relief and gratefulness course through me. Giving her a meaningful look, I ask, “Can we reschedule?” What I mean is, I’ll call you as soon as he leaves and give you all the details.

A small smile lifts her lips, as if she’s reading my mind. “Sure, call me later.” She presses a kiss to my cheek and snatches the bill before I can. Then she heads for the counter to pay, leaving me alone with Gus.

Standing on somewhat shaky legs, anxiety curling in my gut, because he’s nervous, I say, “We can head over to the shop.”

I don’t know what this is about, but suddenly, I remember Grey saying Gus seemed jealous, and I’m worried he was right. I’m worried about what that could mean.

We’re silent as we make our way across the street, and my hands shake as I unlock the door to my shop, breathing in the familiar earthy, floral scent that immediately calms my nerves.

“What’s up?” I ask the moment the door closes behind Gus. I move through the store, turning on lights and the computer, setting up for the day. The sugary iced latte I had with breakfast makes my heart beat quicker, my fingers tremble as I go through the motions.

Gus watches me silently for a long moment. I can feel his eyes trailing me through the store. Finally, he says, “I want to talk about Grey.”

Slowly, I turn, placing my hands on the counter behind me, leaning back until my back settles against the butcher block. My heart pounds in my chest so loudly I can hear it, feel it.

Breathing in and out once deeply, I ask, “What about him?”

“Or, I guess, I don’t really want to talk about him,” Gus says. “I want to talk about us. Why we ended.”

“Okay,” I breathe, unsure which topic I would rather discuss less with my ex-boyfriend.

“Things weren’t right with us, Fin,” he says. A few months ago, even a few weeks ago, that would have hurt a lot more. Even though I know he’s right. Things were easy between us, easy enough that I could have seen a life with him. But for him, things were so easy that he didn’t feel the need to be with me, that absolute necessity to spend every waking moment together, to ache for me when we were apart, to commit when it wasn’t something he’d wanted before.

I didn’t feel that either, but until Grey, I didn’t know I needed it.

“I know that,” I respond. “And I’m glad you called it off, because I doubt I ever would have.”

His chin dips in a nod, and I see relief cross his features. Something that will never not be weird about breakups is that although you aren’t with that person anymore, you never stop knowing their tells. You never stop knowing how to read them. You can never unlearn them, even though they’re not yours anymore.

“I meant it when I said I wasn’t looking for marriage, but when I met Eloise…” He trails off, eyes catching on mine, like he’s begging me to understand. “I just don’t want you to think I was lying, that I was looking for excuses to break up with you. I want you to know that I meant what I said when I said it.”

Something sharp wedges between my ribs. I know he meant this to comfort me, but it just shoves that insecurity of never being enough farther into my softest places.

“I understand,” I say, because I do. Once again, relief crests over him. Maybe I was wrong about being able to unlearn someone, because he doesn’t recognize the blow he just dealt me. He can’t see that I’m injured and hurting.

“I don’t want you to get hurt with Grey,” Gus says in a rush, and I can tell this is really why he came. There’s concern in his eyes that’s been there since the restaurant, and I finally understand why. “He’s…”

He trails off, but I know he’s referring to Grey’s reputation, to his inability to go on more than a few dates with a woman before he seemingly tires of them.

I don’t owe Gus an explanation, but he didn’t owe me one either and offered it anyway, so I say, “Grey has been waiting on me for a long time. He saw what we could be long before I did. I’m just now catching up.”

I don’t know how I expect Gus to respond, but I’m relieved when it’s with a smile, a genuine one. “Oh, good. I’m really, really happy for you, Fin.” I realize that whatever jealously Grey thought he saw yesterday, that whatever weirdness I’ve noticed since the day he told me he was engaged, was actually concern for me.

Then he leans forward, almost conspiratorially, and asks, eyes twinkling, “So do you think he’s the one?”

Seven months ago, hell, seven weeks ago, I wouldn’t have believed myself capable of having this conversation with him, but I’m grateful I’m here. I’ve always liked Gus, even when things between us soured, and I’m happy we’re here now.

But I’m not sure I’m ready to admit my feelings to him, not when they’re so new and I haven’t even told Grey the extent of them. So I shrug, and say, “He could be. Time will tell.”

Gus nods, understanding. Then he checks his watch. “I better get going.”

“Thanks for checking on me,” I say, still leaning against the counter, arms crossed over my chest to block out the chill of the AC. “See you Saturday.” At his wedding. It doesn’t hurt like it used to.

Gus smiles, something soft. “Of course. Bye, Finley.”

Somehow, this goodbye feels like closure. I’ll see him again, obviously, at his wedding and around town, but this feels like the goodbye we needed months ago. I’ve known things were over, and I’ve been genuinely okay with it, but this goodbye feels like flipping the page on a chapter that went on for too long, finally moving forward to the next part of the story.

Maybe it’s because of it that I find myself walking out the front door of the shop, keys in hand, and letting myself into the empty shop next door, not bothering to see if anyone is watching.

I flip the lights on and watch as dust motes catch in it. It smells stale in here, dusty but not quite dirty. I can imagine it smelling of books, imagine the walls lined in shelves and fresh flowers sitting beside the register. Because even if I have a new dream, I’ll never give up my flowers.

My hands tremble as I pull my phone out of my back pocket, and even though my heart beats in my throat, I feel sure in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.

I scroll through my contacts and click on my landlord’s number, my heart beating in time with the rings. When he answers, I say, “I want to rent the empty shop next door.”

I’m practically buzzing with my news when Grey walks into the shop hours later. My heart stutters when I see him. He’s wearing jeans, even though it’s sweltering outside, and a white T-shirt so thin it looks like it could rip with the slightest tug. He’s smiling, eyes bright, and in his hands is a bouquet of poppies. Blue and red poppies, wrapped in newspaper.

I can actually feel my heart catch in my throat, my skin heat up under the soft perusal of his eyes. A flutter starts deep in my stomach, butterflies taking flight from their chrysalis for the first time.

“You brought flowers for me,” I say, my voice barely more articulate than a breath. “No one ever gets me flowers.”

His smile stretches. “Well, that’s a damn shame. You deserve all the flowers. Oh, and I forgot.” He pulls a worn mass market paperback out of his back pocket, moves forward to place it on the counter between us. “For your bookshop. One day.”

Warmth spreads through me, lighting me up from the inside out, and I truly have no words except to say, “Thank you, Grey.” Then, after shaking myself from his hypnotizing gaze, “Where did you get the flowers? And the book?”

A stunning blush creeps into his cheeks, and I desperately want to press my lips to them, feel his warmth against my mouth, memorize how it feels to know I put it there. “Your mom’s garden. And I found the book at a garage sale.”

I take the flowers, burying my nose in them, breathing in their familiar sweet, earthy smell. With my other hand, I finger the worn edges of the book, running my fingertips over the cracked spine. It’s a bodice ripper, the couple on the front locked in an intimate, passionate embrace. It’s a book I’ll read before putting in my bookshop, where it will wait for some lucky person to buy it and find as much enjoyment in it as I did. Or maybe since this one is from him , I’ll keep it. Put it on a shelf in my tiny apartment and never put it in the shop. Pull it out time and again to reread, thinking of the way I feel right now, basking in the glow of his attention.

The book reminds me of the news I have for him, and a smile breaks out across my face. “I called the landlord today.”

Grey’s grin mirrors my own, excitement and pride reflected back at me. “And?”

A deep breath releases from my lungs, lifting my chest and dropping it back down. I can feel the nerves racing just under my skin, but beneath it is something else, something deeper. Anticipation. “I told him I wanted it.”

He lets out a whoop, coming around the counter to pick me up, swinging me around in the tight space between the wall and counter. My feet catch on cardboard boxes beneath it, dragging them out onto the ground. And suddenly, he’s tripping, holding me with one arm, trying to catch us against the wall with the other. We go down anyway, landing in a heap on the floor. He lets out a grunt as he flattens a cardboard box beneath his back and I land on top of him, his arm still banded tightly around my waist.

It only takes a moment for us to recalibrate, to take a deep breath and assess ourselves for injuries, before we realize we’re okay and begin laughing. The deep kind that feels like it’s being pulled out of our depths. I relish in the feeling of his body spasming beneath mine, his head gently hitting the floor, mine coming down to rest in the crook of his neck, his collarbone heaving beneath me, bumping up against my nose with every peal of deep laughter.

There are tears in my eyes when I pull back, out of breath but happier than I can ever remember being. I lay over top of Grey like this in his bed, telling him that waking up with me was real, that it wasn’t one of his dreams, and I feel the need to tell him that now, to remind myself as much as him.

So I say, “This is real,” and watch as his laughter vanishes and is replaced by a different kind of smile. There’s not a trace of humor in this one, but it’s just as happy. This is a smile of contentment, and I realize it’s the only kind of smile I’ve never seen on his face before.

I’ve never felt more lucky than I do now, knowing I’m the one who put that specific smile there.

“Where are we going?” I ask for probably the fifth time since I got in the passenger side of Grey’s truck and he pulled onto the highway. I expected us to go somewhere in town, or maybe down the road to one of the bigger suburbs. But we’ve been driving for close to three hours now, through small, sparsely populated towns into identical suburbs, and now turning into large highways, taller buildings, traffic.

“Charlotte,” he says. Again.

“I know that.”

His gaze cuts over to me for a moment before returning to the road, the line of glowing red taillights in front of us. “Then why are you asking again?”

“Because you still haven’t given me a better answer.”

“You’ll like it.”

“You already said that.”

A grin quirks his lips. “We’re back to square one.”

I let out an aggrieved sigh, knowing I’m not getting anywhere with him. Instead, I let my eyes focus on the surroundings outside the truck. Gleaming buildings reflecting the sun, a river cutting through the city, people lining the streets.

“Would you ever want to live here? Or another city?” I ask him, pulling my gaze back into the car, to his profile, lit up by the bright vermillion sun arcing toward the horizon.

He seems to think about it for a minute before shaking his head. “I used to think I wanted to leave town. Move away from my family. I thought it might be easier, that our relationship might be better if we weren’t in the same place.” He presses the brakes, stopping behind the line of traffic, and focuses on me. “Now I know there’s nowhere else I want to be.”

My heart beats so hard I wonder if he can see it in the pulse at my throat.

“What about you?” he asks, wrist propped on the steering wheel, curved over it in an effortless kind of way.

I shake my head. “No. I’ve never wanted to leave Fontana Ridge. It’s home, you know?”

He looks away from me, back at the road, even though the traffic isn’t moving. I see his throat bob in a swallow, and I realize how my answer must sound to him, because he’s never had much of a home. Not one he cherishes the way that I do. Guilt sours in my stomach.

But he surprises me by glancing back, his eyes settling heavy on mine, a small smile curling one side of his mouth before the other, making my heart beat faster. “Yeah, I know.”

And I think I know what he’s saying but not saying. What’s way too soon to say. But I feel it too. That maybe we could be each other’s home, that we feel like home for one another.

It’s as scary as it is thrilling, because it’s a lot to pin on one person. I’ve never been enough to be someone’s home. Because while I don’t blame Gus anymore, while I agree we weren’t right for each other, we weren’t enough for each other, I’m worried I won’t be enough for Grey either.

The traffic starts moving again, and we’re silent until we pull onto a quiet street. Or as quiet as a street can be in the city. Cars line both sides of the road, but Grey finds an opening and parallel parks. When he turns the truck off, the stifling heat of the summer seems to close around us. I look around the street, trying to figure out where we’re going so we can get out of this hot car. I hope it’s somewhere with frozen margaritas, because at this moment, nothing in the entire world sounds better.

“Where are we going?” I ask, and he grins.

“That’s six times now. I guess you’ll never learn.”

He climbs out of the truck and runs around the front to come to my side. He opens my door, offers his hand to help me out. My fingers close around his palm, loving the way it feels against mine. It’s rough and callused and so large it engulfs my hand.

He closes the door behind me, then tugs me across the street and farther down the sidewalk until we stop in front of a brightly lit store. Large letters above the door spell out Forget Me Not Book and Flower Shop.

My mouth falls open, and when I look at Grey, he’s grinning. Eyes lit up brighter than the sun setting at his back. It glows behind him, giving him a warm halo, making him look exactly like the angel I believe he is.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course.” He nods. “For inspiration.”

I don’t even know what to say, so I turn back to the shop. But my heart falls when my eyes catch on the neon Closed sign lit up in the falling darkness.

“Oh no,” I say. “It’s closed.”

Grey, though, doesn’t despair the way I do. He merely shrugs, knocks on the door. A moment later, a woman behind the counter that I hadn’t noticed before looks up, a smile cresting her face when she sees us.

She comes to the door, unlocking it with a twist of her wrist. “Grey,” she says with a smile, and her eyes land on me. “And you must be Finley. I looked up your shop online. It’s adorable.”

Words stick in my throat, and I fumble for what to say, so very confused by the turn this evening has taken. “Thank you” is what I finally land on. “Your place looks stunning.”

I can just see past her into the store, and I wasn’t lying. It’s nothing like my shop. It’s all whites, creams, and neutrals. Bright lights. Clean lines. Natural elements, like the rattan light hanging from the ceiling and the giant jute rug lining the oak floors.

It smells of books and flowers, even from here at the threshold. I love it. I want to stay here forever and breathe it in.

“Oh,” the woman exclaims, moving out of the doorway, stepping back to allow us in. “So rude of me to stand in the door and not invite you in. Come in, come in.”

She’s older, probably around my mom’s age, with hair that appears to be a warm, natural blond. Blue eyes that remind me of the sea. Nicely tailored white pants covering her short legs, hitting just above her ankle. A black-and-white-striped shirt that looks like it costs more than I make in a week.

“I’m Nancy, by the way,” she says, ushering us through the building. She must notice the confusion on my face, because she laughs. It’s warm, gentle. “I guess Grey didn’t tell you why you’re here. He thought you might want to pick my brain. But you’re also free to have the shop to yourselves. Look around, get ideas.”

“I—thank you,” I say to her before turning to Grey, my heart feeling as though it’s expanding at a rate that my chest can’t keep up with. It will surely split it open, exposing it more than it already is. “Thank you,” I say again to him, softer this time.

Nancy watches us, eyes knowing. “How about I let you two wander around for a bit? I’ll be in my office. If you have any questions, come knock.”

“Sounds great, Nancy. Thank you again,” Grey says, flashing her that winning smile that always seems to get him what he wants. This time it’s more genuine than ever.

“Yes, thank you,” I say, and she gives us a warm smile before disappearing into her office. When she’s gone and we’re alone, I turn to Grey, unable to hide my astonishment. “How on earth did you orchestrate this?”

For the first time, Grey Sutton looks sheepish. His hands dig into his pockets, shoulders lifting to kiss his ears. “When you told me you wanted to open a bookstore, I started researching people who own both, and I found this place here. I reached out to Nancy, asked her a few questions, asked if I could bring you here sometime to check it out.” His eyes, which have been looking everywhere but my face as heat kicks up into his cheeks, finally settle on mine. There’s excitement in them, a boyish charm that makes me ache. “Nancy is great, and she said she’d be willing to answer any questions you have about owning a bookstore, about managing both. I think you can do it all on your own,” he hurries to add. “But I thought you might want to talk to her.”

He looks so earnest, standing there beneath the bright lights of this shop, large and rugged and so out of place in this delicate, feminine space.

Looking at him now makes my heart swell until it’s so full it’s close to bursting through my chest. It makes my throat ache and my eyes sting.

“You’re perfect,” I manage to choke out.

His lips quirk in a familiar grin, even though I swear I can see pink stealing over his cheeks, covering the tips of his ears.

“Would you mind saying that again? I’d like to record it.”

“For your morning affirmations?”

He shakes his head, moving until we’re just a breath apart, his features blurring with his closeness. “I don’t plan to need those anymore. Waking up with you beside me is more than enough to assure me that all my dreams have come true.”