Page 10 of Finding New Dreams

But then she gave me a quick peck on the cheek and whispered into my ear, “I’m so glad I met you, Flynn. Thank you for the perfect date.”

She pulled back and said the one thing I’d been dreading to hear: “Goodbye.”

Before I could protest or charm her into staying, she slipped from my grasp and vanished into the club. I stood there staring after her for what felt like an hour, half convinced I’d dreamed the whole thing. But her empty glass was still on the table next to mine. The imprint of her kiss still lingered on my mouth.

She’d been real. But she wasn’t coming back.

Feeling an ache I didn’t care to examine, I wandered back to where Cal still sat with his friends. I gave him a quick goodbye, which he didn’t question. Then I grabbed my jacket and left.

All the way to my sister’s house, I replayed the night over and over. I studied each moment, each feeling, wondering how a stranger had made me feel more alive than I had in months. More alive than I’d ever felt at dozens of glitzy L.A. parties with gorgeous women and rich, adoring clients.

For the first time in a long time, I felt the need to create art again. I’d wanted to, of course. I’d wanted to push through my creative block more than anything. But I hadn’t felt that driving urge that had fueled me all the years before. And tonight—

My train of thought cut off when I saw the familiar wooden sign coming up on my right that announced: Welcome to Tangled River!

As I drove through my hometown’s clean, quiet streets, I felt a surprising pang of homesickness mixed with nostalgia. I even saluted the bronze statue of the town’s founder, Travis “Tree Trunk” Lamont, as I drove around the town square. Maybe coming back had been a good idea after all.

But my mind still wondered back to Rose. Where was her home? What if she was close and I had no idea?

I shook the thought away as I passed the only storefront with a light still on. A place called Exquisite Moments. I only caught a glimpse, but it seemed to be an art gallery of some sort, with paintings and photographs on the walls.

A new excitement took root. Maybe I’d go check it out tomorrow. Hell, maybe the owner would even let me use it. Only one way to find out.

4

ROSE

I woke up the next morning with a smile on my face.

I’d had deliciously sexy dreams of a tall, strong, scorching-hot man who looked exactly like Flynn. Kissed like Flynn too. Pure. Heaven.

Rolling over in bed, I dug my dream journal out of my nightstand and jotted down a few lines about the dream before it evaporated like the morning dew.

Last night had been one of the best nights of my life. Better than any fantasy I’d ever cooked up in my head or painted on a canvas. He’d been so charming, so confident, so playful that I’d come dangerously close to spending all night with him. Those lips of his had almost sealed the deal.

But something had held me back. We’d both wanted it—very badly, judging by the hard length in his pants and the intense pressure built up in my core. But I’d wanted it almost too much. And that scared me. I could hardly explain it, even now as I scribbled out my musings.

A crescendo of violins jolted me from my thoughts. I glanced at my alarm clock and groaned. I had thirty minutes before I needed to meet Gina. I’d showered the night before and thrown my paint-spattered clothes into the laundry unit I kept in the closet of my studio apartment. But I needed to hurry if I was going to stretch, eat, and change first.

After shutting off my alarm, I rolled out my yoga mat, facing the big window that filled my apartment with morning light. I cleared my mind and took myself through a few morning salutations in my pajamas.

Then I made myself a power smoothie in my small but adequate kitchen. One of the many benefits of living above my studio was that I didn’t have to worry about neighbors below me complaining my blender was too loud. Gina was my only neighbor—her larger apartment was housed over the two other businesses in our strip—and the wall between us was thick enough that we never bothered each other.

After pouring my smoothie in a thermos with a metal straw, I shimmied out of my butterfly-covered satin pajamas. I threw on a pair of black leggings with a hot pink tank top and sports bra, thinking I might go for a run after helping Chloe.

At nine on the dot, I hurried between apartment staircases and knocked on Gina’s door.

“Coming!” she shouted through the door.

A few moments later, she opened it. Half her hair was still in curlers, and a toothbrush dangled from her mouth.

I laughed. “Chloe’s going to kill you if we don’t show up in exactly half an hour.”

“I know, I know,” she grumbled, savagely brushing her teeth. She waved me in and hurried back to the bathroom, shouting over her shoulder, “Give me two minutes!”

“She means ten,” her son, Dom, said.

I grinned at him. “I know.”

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