Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Slowly, the clouds in my head cleared and the dream pieced itself back together. Holy shit. Hot and sweaty, I threw the covers off me and lay there breathing hard. My body was still tingling, my erogenous zones on fire. If I’d been at home, I’d have reached beneath my bed for my LELO. For a moment, I was tempted to finish myself off with my fingers, but decided against it. Not with my grandmother sleeping downstairs—that was just too weird.
Swinging my feet to the floor, I got out of bed and wandered into the bathroom, where I drank a glass of cold water and then splashed some on my face. When my heart rate returned to normal, I went back to bed.
But I couldn’t sleep. The dream was too vivid in my head. The hum of arousal still lingered under my skin. I hadn’t been so turned on by a man in years, and it hadn’t even been real—it was all in my mind.
How utterly unfair.
The therapist in me wanted to analyze it. Not that I felt dreams were some mystical way the universe delivered messages, but I did believe that they offered insight into the subconscious. So what was my subconscious trying to say?
Frowning, I tried to dig a little deeper.
What was so intriguing about him? Was he the anti-Walter? Thick where Walter was thin? Quiet where Walter was verbose? Complicated where Walter was straightforward? Sexy as all get-out where Walter was … not?
Was it a plain old physical attraction? Was it his past? Did I simply feel sorry for him and want to help a soul in need? Was it the slight crack in the armor tonight when he’d smiled and invited me in? Not that the visit had lasted very long—he’d looked pretty anxious the whole time I was standing there, and fairly relieved when I said I would go. But did he really want to be alone, or was it a mask he wore to protect himself? What had he been through that would make him retreat into himself that way? What stories could he tell me?
Okay, enough. Stop thinking and go to sleep. He’s not your client and he doesn’t need you poking around in his head.
There it was—the familiar voice of reason. It comforted me. So I’d had a sexy dream about him, big deal. It wasn’t real, and it meant nothing.
Nothing except that my subconscious wanted to fuck his.
Deep and long and hard.
The following morning, I got out of bed early and went for a run. The sun had barely come up, and Grams wasn’t even out of her room yet. I tied my shoelaces sitting on the front porch steps and took off at an easy warm-up pace down the road. When I passed Ryan’s house, I had to make an effort not to stare in the windows. He was a runner, too, Grams had said. Maybe I’d see him out for his morning jog.
But I returned about an hour later, having seen almost no one on the empty roads. Upstairs, I took a shower and got dressed, thinking I’d offer to take Grams out for breakfast. She was up and about when I came back down, and she loved the idea of going to town together.
We had breakfast at her favorite diner, lingered over cups of coffee, then strolled around downtown Hadley Harbor, ducking in and out of shops that were just opening up for the day. Grams knew almost every shopkeeper and customer, and she loved introducing me to people. Many of them told me how beloved my grandmother was in town, how generous she was, how much spunk she still had at ninety-two. Several mentioned how much they’d loved my grandfather, who’d been the local dentist, and how they still missed his terrible jokes and the way he could whistle any tune they named. It struck me how lucky my grandparents had been to find each other in Detroit in the first place and to live so happily together for so many years in this small town.
Did people still do that? Was it too much to hope for? Too old-fashioned?
At one small gourmet food shop, Grams was greeted by a woman who was maybe in her fifties with short dark hair and a pretty smile. She wore a collared green shirt that said Cloverleigh Farms, and I recognized it as the same one Ryan had worn yesterday.
“Ruthie, hello!”
Grams turned. “Oh, hello, Daphne. How are you?”
“Very well, thanks. And you?”
“Wonderful. I’ve got my granddaughter here this week.” She put an arm around me. “This is Stella.”
The woman smiled and held out her hand. “Daphne Sawyer.”
I shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Grams turned to Daphne. “I hear my neighbor works for you. Ryan Woods?”
The woman nodded. “Yes, he does. Mack brought him on and he’s been incredible. He can do just about anything! He keeps to himself mostly, but seems very sweet.”