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

22. Finley

Today is the day my ex-boyfriend gets married, and I woke up on my couch, my legs tangled with Grey’s from where we passed out last night, mid-movie marathon. It wasn’t so much of a marathon as watching one movie and starting another before we fell asleep. But still, waking up with him here makes it remarkably easy to get up and go to my ex-boyfriend’s wedding with absolutely no regrets.

Maybe I underestimated the actual getting up part, though, because as soon as I try to extricate myself from him, he’s tugging me back until I land on top of him. His lips find mine in a sleepy, drugging kiss. I’m telling him this isn’t a dream, that this is real, and it’s not even just for his benefit anymore; it’s for my own. It feels too good to be real, and I have to remind myself that it is. That his hands are actually on my body, sliding beneath the hem of my shirt to smooth ever so gently up my sides. That his mouth is really on my neck. That his voice is really whispering into my skin, telling me how perfect I am, how long he’s dreamed of this.

This is real, and it’s better than I could have imagined.

I’m late delivering the flowers, and it’s all Grey’s fault. He wouldn’t let me leave, and he made a really persuasive argument for me to stay. So when I’ve finally retrieved the bouquets, centerpieces, boutonnieres, and other florals from the shop, loaded them into my van, and closed down the shop for the morning, I’m late and sweating and realizing I need to hire help. Especially when I open the bookstore. Just thinking about it sends a thrill of equal parts anxiety and anticipation through me.

I love all parts of being a florist, but weddings are undoubtedly one of my favorites. No matter the weather, there’s always something in the air at weddings. Something magical and special that I haven’t found anywhere else.

Today is no different.

It’s early, hours before the wedding, although later than I would have wanted to arrive. I get started unloading all the flowers and bringing them into the cool, air-conditioned venue. Then I get to work on the arch first. I love arranging arches. I always draw them up in a notebook. I have dozens of them at the shop and in my apartment, but they never end up looking exactly like my sketch. When I get to work arranging, I lose myself in it, fitting the florals and greenery together like a beautiful, artistic puzzle.

I’m so in my own world that I don’t hear people arriving until they’re right behind me, oohing and aahing. I turn, wiping my sweating brow with the back of my hand, and see the bridesmaids, dressed in matching pastel silk robes, with Eloise smack dab in the middle in white. She hasn’t had her hair or makeup done yet, but she looks stunning anyway. I think she’s probably had a facial recently, because her skin is glowing. Her caramel highlights have been refreshed, giving her long dark hair dimension. Her nails are long, some ombre white situation that looks classic and timeless. I wait to feel a pinch of resentment, looking at her on her wedding day, about to marry my ex-boyfriend, the man I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with, but it never comes. Even though I’m standing in front of her in an old tank top and cut-offs, my hair pulled back in a short, stumpy ponytail, makeup-less and sweating, all I feel for her is happiness.

The bridesmaids must have been talking about the flowers, but I missed it. I do, however, hear Eloise telling them to head to the bridal suite and that she will meet them there in a minute. They head through the expansive venue, leaving us alone, their laughter and chatter echoing behind them down the hallway.

When they’re gone, I say the first thing I can think of. “You look beautiful, Eloise.”

A surprised but pleased expression crosses her features, pink slowly coloring her cheeks like the sky at dusk.

“Thank you,” she says, and then reaches for her hair almost self-consciously. “The hair and makeup artists will be here soon.”

I shrug. “Either way.”

We’re quiet for a moment, looking at each other. I know she’s thinking what I was earlier, that this was supposed to be me, even if she doesn’t know that I’m glad it’s not. Finally, she says, “I wanted to thank you for all of this.” She swallows, her eyes darting away from mine. “I realize it wasn’t fair for us to ask this of you. We just got so wrapped up in everything that we weren’t thinking clearly.”

I nod in understanding. “It’s okay. I’m glad to do it.” And I am.

She stares at me for a long moment, as if assessing me for the truth. She must see it in my eyes or the tilt of my chin. Maybe the hickey on my collarbone, peeking out from under my tank top strap, the one that’s going to take all the concealer in my makeup bag to cover before the wedding.

“Well, thank you,” she says again, finally meeting my eyes. “I’ve always loved your florals and hoped you’d do my wedding flowers one day.”

This surprises me, but I fight not to let it show. For months, I was jealous of her, comparing myself to her, and she was admiring me. I have to force myself to smile, even though it’s genuine, because my head is still spinning. “I’m glad it worked out the way it did.”

Her own smile widens. It’s brilliant. “Me too.” Tipping her head in the direction of the bridal suite, she says, “I better get back there. See you at the wedding?”

I nod. “We’ll be there.”

“Good,” she responds, backing up toward the suite. “I’m glad you’re here, Finley.” When she disappears, I turn around and get back to arranging the flowers at my ex-boyfriend’s wedding, knowing I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

When Grey picks me up, he’s wearing a blue-gray suit almost the exact color of his eyes, no tie, and he looks good. The wedding is formal, but not black tie. I’m wearing a floor-length yellow silk dress with a high enough neckline to cover the mark his mouth left on my collarbone this morning.

His eyes trail down my body, one side of his mouth hitching up before the other in a crooked grin that makes my heart rate quicken. “You sure you want to go to a wedding? We could just stay here.”

He moves forward until his hands find my hips, sliding over the slippery fabric there, and I can feel the heat of his skin through it. He’s warm as summer sunshine, and his expression is just as bright. He looks enamored. A thrill goes through me, zinging up my spine, at knowing I’m the reason he looks like that.

I’m anticipating his kiss, and I sink into it when he finally leans in. Suddenly, I’m no longer upset about all the women he’s dated over the last fifteen years, because they taught him a lot. Grey knows what he’s doing, tugging my lip between his teeth, moving his mouth down the slope of my neck, over the shell of my ear. He makes my knees weak, my heart race, my skin prickle. He makes me feel alive in a way I haven’t before and didn’t even realize I was missing.

I pull back from him, my head resting against the doorframe he must have backed me into at some point, and stare up into his eyes. They’re no longer the color of the spring sky. They’ve turned into something stormier, zipping with an undercurrent of electricity. I want to tug him into my apartment, keep him all to myself tonight. But I also want to go out, spend the evening dancing with him under fairy lights, feel his warm body moving in time with mine.

“We better go, or we’re going to be late.”

His lips land on my neck again, sliding down it to try and inch beneath the collar of my dress, find that spot he left his mark on this morning. “I’m fine with that. In fact, we should skip it.” I can feel his smile against my skin, and it mirrors my own.

“That sounds nice.”

“Perfect,” he says a second before his hands hook under my thighs, lifting me up and carrying me into the apartment.

I squeal, my head tipping back in the kind of laugh that feels magical, memorable. The kind you see on TV and ache for. “Grey, let me down. We have to go to this wedding.”

“No, we don’t.”

“I want to.”

At this, he drops me slowly, letting me land gently on my high heels. But he doesn’t move his hands from my hips. He keeps me tight against him. His eyes search mine, considering, a thoughtful line etched between his brows.

“Why?”

“I want to go out with you, all dressed up, and dance until our feet hurt and drink until our heads are fuzzy, the way we should have at Holden and Wren’s wedding.” I’m a little surprised by my answer, but it’s the truth.

He holds my gaze for a long moment, the divot between his brows not disappearing. His Adam’s apple bobs in a swallow before he asks, “So it’s not about him ?” He doesn’t have to say who.

I shake my head, feeling the truth of it in my bones. It really has nothing to do with Gus and everything to do with Grey. “I just want to spend my evening with you, having fun.”

Slowly, the way the sun crests the horizon at dawn, flowers arcing toward its draw, his face transforms. The wrinkle between his brow disappears, only to reappear at the edges of his eyes, and a smile curls over his lips. His lone dimple pops in his cheek, and I have the overwhelming urge to fit my finger right there. Instead, I press my lips to it.

“Let’s go.”

Doing the flowers for weddings comes second only to attending them. If I think the air is filled with crackling, anticipatory electricity before the ceremony, it only heightens when the wedding actually starts. Normally, I like to watch the groom when the bride walks out, catch his reaction to his bride. I didn’t plan on doing that today, but I find my eyes wandering there of their own accord.

There’s no prick of pain when Gus’s smile stretches across his mouth, blinding in its brightness. There’s only the warm feeling I always get. And when Grey’s hand finds my hip, squeezing it and pulling me back ever so slightly into the heat of his chest, I know he feels it too.

It’s only then, feeling him behind me, that the thought pops into my head. That maybe this could be us next. That maybe this will be the relationship that doesn’t end in heartache. That maybe this will be the one that doesn’t end at all.

I think he’s thinking it too, because when we sit down, his calloused hand finds mine, and he holds on. As we watch Gus and Eloise reciting their vows, our hands tangled together, his thumb moving idly back and forth over my skin, I realize I’m in love with him. When Gus and Eloise kiss for the first time as husband and wife, I don’t watch. I finally allow myself to glance up at Grey, and I find him already looking at me. And I think I see the same look reflected in his eyes.

I think Grey loves me back.