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

27. Finley

My throat constricts as I stare at the sign in front of me. Unlikely Places Florals and Books. The stores technically aren’t combined, but they’re next door to each other, and the design and decor were intended to be cohesive. My landlord even allowed french doors to be installed between the two shops, and I plan to keep them open all the time so customers can wander back and forth as they please.

I think books and flowers are meant to go together.

And it seems like the community agrees. I was right when I assumed they would rally behind me. For months after I decided to rent the building, I didn’t do anything with it. It sat empty, and I would slip into it when I wanted to daydream. But I was too scared to do anything about it. Grey never stopped buying books for me. I think he curated half the store before I’d even gotten to work on it.

Once wedding season slowed down and the cold set in and I couldn’t waste time tinkering in Mom’s garden, I finally decided to get down to business.

Grey and I, with the help of Holden, spent the winter building shelves and installing them. I painted them a soft shade of sage green with the book club girls one evening. And repainted them with Grey a few days later because it seemed we had missed quite a lot in our tipsy states. I got permits and loans and hired staff to help out at the flower shop so I could spend more time at the bookstore.

In the spring, Grey and I scoured thrift stores and garage sales for books. In the summer, we started taking donations. And now, at the start of autumn, as the first of the leaves slip into copper and gold and bronze, I’m finally ready.

Everyone will be here this evening for the opening night party, but I wanted a moment alone now, in the early morning, before the streets are filled with tourists here for apple season at the orchard. Before the rest of the people in town begin opening their shops for the day.

Right now, it’s just me and Unlikely Places, exactly how I wanted it. I let myself into the bookstore first, breathing in the smell of old books and worn, dusty pages. The flower shop side always smells earthy, floral, organic, and I can never decide which one I like better.

I take it all in—think back on the months of work that have gone into making this place what I always dreamed it could be. Books line all the shelves, some used and worn, others new and gleaming from their spots on the new releases table. There are stacks of books on every available surface in the room. I hadn’t expected this much inventory on opening day, but I should have expected the town to come through like they did, donating books that they will undoubtedly come back to purchase this week.

The door to the shop opens, and I turn from where I was adjusting some of the new releases on the table in the middle of the store and see Grey. His hair has grown a little out of control in the last few months, wavy and constantly tousled. He keeps saying he needs to get it cut, but I keep talking him out of it.

I like it when he looks a little wild.

Right now, he’s thoroughly windblown. It’s the first week of October, and the chill has already begun to set in, requiring layers in the mornings and evenings that have to be stripped off midday when the sun is high overhead. The crisp morning air has made his hair stick up in messy waves and has stained his cheeks and nose pink. He’s wearing an unbuttoned flannel over a white T-shirt with jeans that are worn in all the right places. A dusty paperback with folded, yellowed pages peeks out of his back pocket.

This has become somewhat of a tradition for us. Over the last year, I’ve rarely seen him without a used paperback for me. Half the shop was stocked by him. I’m not sure where he’s getting them or where he’s keeping them before they make their way into my inventory. I’ve searched his house and truck, but I’ve never been able to locate them. So each one is a surprise.

“Good morning,” he says, lips tipped in a crooked smile. He closes the distance between us, pressing a quick kiss to my mouth. “Today is the big day.”

I nod, nerves settling low in my belly. But there’s also anticipation pumping through my blood. It’s heady, the mixture of the two.

Grey—bless him—can read every emotion on my face. His lips settle against my temple, and he says “it’s going to be great” into my hair.

Reaching into his back pocket, he produces the book for me. It looks like a thriller from the eighties or nineties, and by the way it’s worn and tattered, it’s either been read many times and beloved or ignored and kept in boxes and passed between thrift stores for decades. It even appears that someone took a Sharpie to the cover because the word Will in the title has been circled with a fat-tipped marker. Recently, by the looks of it.

I drag my fingers over it. “You think someone will still buy it if it’s been written on?”

He shrugs. “Don’t know. I’ll put it behind the counter, and you can decide what you want to do with it later.”

Nodding, I smooth my fingers over the cover once more, flattening a curled edge.

“You ready for tonight?” Grey asks as he slips behind the counter, placing the book next to the register.

We’re having an opening party tonight. There will be champagne as well as strawberry wine, at Wren’s request. I hired a caterer and ordered enough food to feed the whole town, because I have no doubt they’ll all show up. Everyone is allowed to take a used book and a flower of their choice as a party favor. It’s the least I can do after the way they’ve all shown up for me.

I’m still nervous about letting them down, but I’m working on it.

“I feel like there’s still so much to do,” I say.

He quirks a single eyebrow in my direction. I’m still mad that I can’t do that.

“There’s nothing left. You’re officially banned for the rest of the day. Everyone is showing up at two to decorate, and I’m under strict instructions to keep you away.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m sure you can think of plenty of ways to keep me busy.”

His smile turns mischievous. “You have no idea.”

Grey, true to his word, keeps me away from the shop for the rest of the day. He does a fantastic job of keeping me occupied. It’s not until I finish curling my hair in my apartment, hours later, the sun already starting to set now that the time has changed, that the nerves return.

From where he’s been getting ready in the tiny bathroom beside me, he notices the change immediately. His eyes catch on mine in the mirror, and his hands are like magnets, finding my hips. It never ceases to amaze me how we fit together. Like this, his head lands perfectly on the top of my head. I sink back into him, thankful for his strength. I can feel his heartbeat against my back, and like always, it settles me. A metronome that my body seems attuned to.

“Have I told you recently how proud I am of you?” Grey asks.

My lips twitch, holding back a smile. “Not in the last twenty minutes or so.”

He tugs me back harder against him, his arms banding around my middle. “Smart-ass.”

“You love it.”

His lips dip to the slope of my neck, where it meets my shoulder, and he presses a kiss there. I have to work to hold back my shiver, but when he smirks at me in the mirror, I know I’ve failed. “I do.”

I let out a shuddering breath, my stomach in knots. My apartment is far from soundproof, and I could hear everyone decorating downstairs for hours. Now that we’re less than an hour from the party, I hear the noises of cars parking along the street outside. We need to get downstairs, and I need to put on my brave face.

“You ready?” he asks, his eyes never leaving mine in the mirror. I know he’s been watching as I cycle through my emotions, waiting for me to get myself together.

I nod, and he plants one more kiss on my shoulder, his hands squeezing my hips, and backs out of the bathroom, palm outstretched for me.

I slip my hand into his, swallowing down my nerves, and follow him out of my apartment.

When we open the door to Unlikely Places, a gasp catches in my throat. My friends and family are already there, of course. The book club girls, my mom, Holden, June, and Wren, with baby Wilder on her hip, his bright red curls matching his mom’s.

But what really strikes me is the way they’ve transformed this place. It looks like how I left it this morning, but somehow so much more . There are fairy lights hung from the ceiling, illuminating the place in a warm, whimsical glow. Gift bags line every available surface, instead of where I left them on the counter this morning, filled with business cards and a note explaining the book and flower party favors. But what really takes my breath away is the back wall. This morning when I left, my new logo was hanging from the ceiling in front of the dark green wall. I’d had it printed on a large cutout banner and had positioned it just so. But now, the wall behind it isn’t empty. Dozens of books are attached to the wall, the pages hanging open, fluttering when the HVAC kicks on. It’s stunning .

I look back at the people in front of me, their expressions expectant. “It’s…” I’m at a loss for words, unable to express how much I love it, unable to tell them how much it means to me that they’ve shown up for me time and again over the last few months. Everyone working together to make my dreams come true.

“I love it,” I finally say. It’s not nearly enough to encapsulate everything I’m feeling, but they all seem to understand. They all know me. They all love me.

His hand finds my waist again, squeezing my hip one, two, three times, a silent message for just me. It gives me the strength I need, calms my buzzing nerves in a way only he’s ever been able to do.

So I swallow back my anxious thoughts and say, “Let’s do this.”

The town shows up for me. I’m not surprised. I’m also not going to lie and say it doesn’t cause me to panic a little, but I’m working on it. Anytime it starts to feel like the pressure is too much, Grey appears at my side with a smile and a touch meant only for me.

I lose track of everyone who shows up. Grey’s parents stop by, and when they do, my hand slips into his with ease. Their relationship is still strained, and it most likely always will be, but he’s working on it. They’re working on it. Or at least he and his mom are. She’s been coming for lunch at his place once a month for the last few months. It was my idea, inspired by the weekly dinners we have with my mom, and when I floated the idea to him, he wanted to try it, but only on a monthly basis to start. The dinners have mostly been awkward, but they’re getting better each time. His dad isn’t invited, and I’m proud of Grey for that. He said he’d like to one day feel comfortable enough to invite him, but that some things will need to change first.

I’m surprised that Mr. Sutton is here now, and Grey seems even more so. His dad is as charming as ever, introducing himself to people as he moves through the crowd, and I feel Grey tense beside me.

“I can’t believe he’s here,” he breathes.

I finish checking out my high school history teacher. He’s leaving with his free book and flower—an autobiography of one of the founding fathers and a daisy for his wife—and a whole stack of others that brought his total to over one hundred dollars. He flat-out refuses a discount, then and slides an envelope across the counter labeled Donation . It’s the fourth one I’ve gotten tonight.

When my former teacher finally leaves, I spin to look at Grey, whose face is tight. “Do you want him to leave?”

He tears his gaze away from his dad, pale blue eyes fixing on me. A soft smile touches his lips, and he shakes his head. “No, this is your day. If you’re fine with him being here, then I am.”

I keep my eyes focused on his, looking for a twinge of discomfort, but when I can’t find any, I let out a sigh, my hand slipping into his. “You sure?”

His chin dips in a nod. “Of course.” Then he reaches into his back pocket and procures another worn paperback.

I shake my head at him, unsure of when he put this in there. It wasn’t there an hour ago, and I know this because he bent down to get a book from the bottom shelf for an elderly woman with a cane, and I was unable to tear my eyes away from his ass.

My hands fold around the book. This one is an old western with a mean-looking cowboy on the cover. Just like the one from earlier, there’s a word circled in the title. This one is You .

But before I can mention it, Mr. and Mrs. Sutton are there. Grey slips the book from my hand, placing it beneath the counter with the one he brought me this morning.

“Finley,” Mr. Sutton booms. He hasn’t warmed up to me since that disastrous dinner at their house last year, but in public, he’s never going to let on. “Congrats on the store.”

I smile at him, and I’m sure Grey is the only one who can tell it’s forced. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him suppress a grin of his own. “Thank you, Mr. Sutton. Glad you could make it.”

And I am. I’m never going to be his biggest fan, but it means a lot to me that he would come. I don’t think it has anything to do with me , but I’m hoping it’s because he knows I’m important to his son.

“Glad we could be here, Finley,” Mrs. Sutton says, her smile soft, almost tentative. She’s seemed to come a little more alive over the last few months, now that she’s spent more time with her son. I wonder if Grey has noticed, if he’s figured out that time with him is what’s bringing her back to life. If he’s realized that his parents have regretted a lot in life, but never him.

Another customer shows up at the counter, and Grey presses a quick kiss to my cheek. “I’ll go talk with them for a bit,” he says into my ear.

I catch his eyes and quietly ask, “You’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be fine, sweetheart.”

Over a year later, and that nickname still makes me melt.

I sink into the flurry of the opening party, holding back tears as people from town slip donations into my hands when they check out, already buying more books than they’ll be able to read. Fontana Ridge takes care of their own, and I’ve never been prouder to be one of them. I only hope I can make them proud. Prove I’m worthy of all the investments they’re making in me.

The hours pass by in a blur, and before I know it, the crowd is emptying out. I haven’t talked to Grey since his parents stopped by, although I’ve seen him flitting about, refilling drinks and helping out where needed. When the last of the customers trickle out, it’s just Wren, Holden, and me. Nora left hours ago to put the kids to bed, and my mom left with June and Wilder so Wren and Holden could stick around.

My back is sore, and my feet are killing me. I’m exhausted, but in the beautiful way when your heart is full and your soul feels tended to. Like nothing could make this moment better, more like magic.

“It was perfect,” Wren says, hiding her yawn behind a hand and leaning against Holden for support. I can’t believe they stayed out this late. Wilder is only six months old and still isn’t sleeping through the night, so neither of them has slept a full night in half a year.

I shake my head, feeling tears prick the back of my eyes. Holden grunts at them, and it stops the tears in their tracks and replaces them with a laugh. “Thank you both for everything. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Holden comes around the counter and tugs me into a one-armed hug. The most affection I’ve gotten from him in ages. “Proud of you, Fin.”

I dig my face into his side, breathing in his familiar sawdust scent. “Thanks, Holden.”

He gives me one last squeeze and backs up. “See you tomorrow. Wren and I have about two hours before Wilder wakes up.”

“Love you,” I say as he opens the door, guiding a half-asleep Wren through it.

“Love you too.” Then he seems to remember something, backing up into the store. He pulls a worn paperback from his back pocket. “Grey told me to give this to you.”

Then they’re gone, and I’m left staring at the book on the counter. It’s got a word circled on it too. Marry .

My heart thunders in my chest as I stare at it, and my hands shake when I reach beneath the counter to pull out the other books Grey and I stashed there today. I line them up on the butcher block counter, not breathing as I stare at them.

The circled words spell out Will You Marry . My blood is rushing in my ears so loudly I don’t hear Grey as he stops in front of the counter and places one last book at the end of the line.

Will You Marry Me

I blink, finally tearing my eyes away from the books to look up at him. He’s got a bouquet of red and blue poppies in his hand, and his eyes are soft, reverent, as they take me in.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I took more than one flower as my favor.”

A choked laugh shoots out of me, and I press my trembling hands to my lips. They’re wet, and it’s only then that I realize I’m crying.

He reaches across the counter, his thumb coasting across my cheek, wiping away the tears as they fall. “Sweetheart” is all he says. It’s so achingly tender, slipping into all my most vulnerable places. “Don’t cry.”

I shake my head, hardly breathing. It feels like my heart has climbed out of my body and placed itself in Grey’s hand, completely his now to nurture or break. And I know there’s no getting it back. I’ve given him all my pieces.

“I can’t believe this is real,” I whisper.

This brings a smile to his face, because this line is familiar, but he’s usually the one saying it to me. In the mornings when he wakes up, thinking he’s dreaming. I say it into his skin, promise it into his ear, make sure he knows that it’s real, that I’m with him, that he’s not alone. That he never has to be alone again.

“It’s real,” he echoes like I’ve done so many times now. It’s a promise, a vow. It feels monumental this time, more than all the others.

Just like all those months before, when we were standing in my shop, the one on the other side of the french doors, he doesn’t ask me the question aloud. He didn’t ask me if I wanted him to be my fake boyfriend. He just waited for my answer, ready to let me decide how his future was going to play out. He’s always been waiting for me.

So just like back then, I say, “Yes.”