Page 47 of Finding New Dreams

Say it’s you, Flynn. Say you’re that man. That I’m not just the moth this time, but the flame.

His thumb skated down my upturned jaw. Once, twice.

“I hope that, one day, you find a man who has it all, Rose. The one who matches your list but who also can’t imagine giving you anything less than you deserve.”

I opened my eyes, but he’d already shifted back to his end of the couch.

I couldn’t get my bearings. Is this what being thoroughly seduced felt like? Sure, I’d been swept off my feet before. But Flynn’s words, his voice, his very being tugged at something deep in my soul. Something like recognition.

Yet he’d pulled away. All but told me he wasn’t That Man.

Confusion rioted through me with torches and sharp edges.

He cleared his throat. “So, school in New York City, a Met sweatshirt—is it safe to assume that was one of your favorite places?”

The syllables stumbled out of my mouth. “Uh, yeah. Definitely.”

“What was your favorite piece?”

Dragging my mind back to familiar territory, I dredged up the memories and told him. Then he told me his. Before I knew it, we were talking and laughing about our favorite art, artist friends, terrible jobs we’d had, Los Angeles, Tangled River, and everything in between.

Somewhere around three a.m., my eyelids started to droop.

The last thing I remembered before soft darkness took me was Flynn cradling me in his arms, tucking me into bed, and whispering goodnight.

I dreamed of a giant tree that swept me up in its branches. But its leaves turned into sapphire eyes that devoured me with a glance. Branches turned into bare, muscled arms that laid me down in the grass. Familiar fingers swept down my suddenly bare skin from throat to breasts to navel to…

I woke with a gasp, sheets tangled around my legs, sweat beading over my skin.

“Bad dream?”

13

FLYNN

Rose’s wild eyes focused on me. She was panting like she’d just run a race, and her cheeks were oddly flushed. Usually that only happened when…

I smiled down at her. “Or very good dream?”

The color in her cheeks deepened to crimson, and I had my answer.

She looked utterly adorable with her dark hair flying every which way and a pillow crease on her cheek.

“What time is it?” she asked in a husky voice that shot straight to my core.

“Almost eight. I whipped up a couple of spinach, feta, and tomato omelets if you’re interested. And also because I was starving.”

Her eyes brightened. “That sounds amazing. Just give me two minutes.”

With surprising energy, she detangled herself and raced for the bathroom. When she came out, she did a double take at the sight of the kitchen.

“You—you cleaned up the dishes from last night?”

“Yep.”

“And you made omelets and…and poured me a glass of juice?”

I frowned, unsure what she was getting at. “Yeah…”

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