Page 84 of Stolen Dreams
We breathe each other in. Bask in the reality of what happens next. Give ourselves a moment to digest this step.
My pulse thrums in my ears. Rampant energy fires through every nerve ending in my body, a subtle tremble in my limbs and fingers. Effervescent thrill blooms beneath my diaphragm, a light sheen of sweat dampening my skin.
Did I really just agree to stay overnight? In his bed? With his son across the hall?
Yes, I did. And the more I think about it, the more my stomach twists in knots.
“We should get going.” Ray presses a kiss to my forehead, unravels me from his hold, leans back, and shifts his attention to Tucker. “Help me clean up, T-Man.”
While Ray and Tucker pack and tidy, I stare out at the bay and get lost in thought.
For years, I’ve held firm on my stance on romantic relationships. I wasn’t interested. Didn’t want my personal life to detract from my career. Period. I had a plan, a timeline, hadconstructed the path I wanted to follow. I’d never put it on paper but memorized it like the back of my hand.
And a relationship with Ray throws the plan down the garbage disposal.
But as I glance at him and Tucker picking up the remnants of our dinner and goofing off, my heart jolts to life.
The blueprint of my future can always be rewritten; I know that now. Because being with them is worth it.
Everything secured in the basket, we stroll to the car, my fingers laced with his. Ray unlocks and starts the car, hands Tucker leftovers after he situates Brody the Bear, then jogs back to the restaurant to set the basket inside.
The drive to my house is brief, quiet, and a little daunting. Ray parks in my driveway, leaves the engine running and makes no move to exit. My pulse stutters at his concession—a moment to myself. A respite I didn’t know I needed, but somehow, he did.
I slip out of the car. “Won’t be long.”
“Take your time. I’ll let Tucker entertain me with his vocal talent.” I don’t miss the hint of sarcasm in his voice.
The car door closes with a soft but startlingsnick. Anticipation swirls in my belly as I head for the front door. Every step forward is a heavier press on the accelerator of my pulse. As I ascend the porch steps, the fuzzy lines of reality turn crisp, clear.
Keying in the code, I unlock and open the door. Step inside and suck in a sharp breath. Close the door and sag against the wall. Exhale slowly, giving me a minute to absorb the day and consider what will change after tonight.
I agreed to spend the night at his house. To sleep in his bed. To wake up in the morning and share breakfast with him and Tucker in my pajamas.
Staying overnight is new territory. Terrain I hadn’t planned on navigating for years. Yet here I am.
Hovering in the foyer, panic filters in from all sides. My stomach flips and dips, nausea clawing its way up my throat. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and focus on something unrelated. A calming hobby or task.
Gardening.
One breath, then another, I focus on a recent memory. Let it take over and settle my nerves.
My fingers sifting through the rich earth. Glimpses of hearty vegetables in the soil, on stalks, and hanging from vines. The swell of gratitude as I fill baskets with corn, beans, sweet potatoes, and gourds. My meditative state as I prepare the land for new seedlings.
More at ease, I inhale deeply and open my eyes. Push off the wall, straighten my spine, and head for my bedroom. Flipping on the light, I shuffle to the closet for an overnight bag and sling the strap over my shoulder. I stare at my wardrobe, dazed and frozen, unsure what to pack. Apprehension trickles in as I veto one garment after another.
Do I pack normal pajamas or something more revealing?
Regular pjs. Tucker will be home.
Should I bring sexy lingerie or stick with comfy cotton?
Provocative undergarments are a guilty pleasure. Something I buy for myself and no one else. When I need a confidence boost, I slip on a lace or silk set. Let it embolden me on more difficult days.
Tonight, I may need that extra support.
I shove pajamas, lingerie, and cotton underwear into the bag. Tug a shirt from the hanger, grab shorts from the dresser, and add them to the overnighter. Head to the bathroom and load my toiletry bag. Force myself to think of anything other than the lacy panties and bra beneath tomorrow’s outfit.
Jittery, I zip the bag closed, turn off the light, and walk out the door. When I step onto the porch and lock up, Ray exits the car, meets me halfway, and takes my bag to put in the trunk.