Only in My Dreams

by Darcy Burke

  He shook his head. “You. This. I’m still not sure.”

  She leaned forward, displaying her cleavage. “Anything I can do to persuade you?”

  He couldn’t suppress a smile at her brazen flirtation. “Lots of things. How do we know this won’t end badly? I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She sat back and crossed her arms. “You’re assuming I’ll fall for you and you’ll have to crush my little feelings? Get over yourself. I’m the one proposing this, just like I did back in January. If I get all clingy and weepy, you have full permission to pull out the ‘I told you so’ card. Deal?”

  He opened his mouth to respond, but she held her hand up and cut him off. “No, please don’t try to tell me what’s best for me or make decisions for me. I get enough of that crap from my family. This is something I get to do. For me.”

  “Actually, I’d been about to agree. Far be it from me to try to manage your life,” he murmured with a small smile before sipping his coffee. He set his mug down. “I have one caveat. This is strictly between us. I don’t want anyone to know. Not your family. Not my crew. No one.”

  “I completely agree. The last thing I need is my family offering their opinions and advice on my love life. Er, sex life,” she amended with a grin.

  “Excellent. I can’t think of anything worse than people knowing I’m boinking the boss.”

  “Boinking?” Her eyes sparkled with mirth. “Is that what we were doing, boinking?”

  He came around the bar to be closer to her. She pivoted on her stool to face him. He lowered his voice. “Would you prefer I called it screwing? Or maybe I should go literary and call it ‘making the two-backed beast.’ ”

  Laughter burst from her mouth and she brought her hand up to cover her luscious, kissable lips. “Please don’t. I’d rather you called it fucking. In fact, I don’t care what you call it as long as we do it again soon.”

  He leaned down, bringing his lips a mere breath from hers. “Count on it.”

  She pressed her mouth to his for what should have been a chaste kiss with the absence of tongue, but which stirred him just the same. “I thought you were going to make breakfast.”

  He kept his lips against hers. “You distracted me with talk of fucking.”

  She put her hand on his chest and pushed on him until he stood upright. “Cook. Actually, I should probably get home. I disappeared last night and things were . . . not good.” Her features shadowed and for the first time since their shower last night, he saw the return of her anxiety.

  “Stay as long as you like. Really.” He picked up his coffee and took a sip. “I was going to make bacon and eggs.”

  She glanced up at him. “Bacon?”

  He rounded the island and went to the fridge. “Hard to say no to, isn’t it?”

  “Impossible. The situation at home will still be there. Unless Kyle’s done what we’re all expecting and left.”

  He put the eggs and bacon on the counter and shut the fridge. “Was he the source of last night’s problem?”

  “Somewhat. It was the stuff with my assistant and then he was home and I just . . . I just lost my cool. The worst part is that Mom overheard.” She blanched and looked down at the counter. Her fingertips slid up and down the orange juice glass. “I told Kyle that maybe I should deal with my frustrations by doing what he did—leaving. I said I’d put my life on hold, with disastrous results given my assistant’s takeover play, and that I should’ve just put myself first like he did.”

  Dylan pulled out a mixing bowl and started cracking eggs. “Ouch. What did he say?”

  “What could he say? He left four years ago and didn’t look back. It took Alex’s suicide to bring him home. Who knows what actually precipitated his supposed permanent return?”

  Dylan’s conversation with Kyle rose in his mind. Kyle had been noncommittal, but Dylan had sensed there was something lurking under the surface. He didn’t know if Kyle had come home for a reason other than the project or if there was something else entirely. “You don’t think he’s here to stay?”

  She shrugged. “He says he is, but who knows what he really intends? He’s worked really hard to stay away.”

  Dylan actually felt a little defensive for the guy. Maybe he had a good reason for leaving and staying away and for not sharing that reason. Dylan knew what it felt like to be the odd one out and to want to keep things to yourself, because in the end it was easier that way. “You don’t think the death of his brother would be sufficient reason to come home for good?”

  “Then why didn’t he?” She crossed her arms. “He came home for the funeral, went back to Florida, and then came back for the revelation of the trust. Then he went back to Florida again for a few months. Why not just move home immediately?”

  Dylan grabbed the milk from the fridge and splashed some into the eggs. “Maybe he had to resolve some things. It’s not easy to pick up and move cross-country. I’ve done it when I was in the military and it takes some planning.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you defending him?”

  “Only playing devil’s advocate. It’s a bad habit.” It had been the only way he’d dared to present his own opinions, which often differed from those of his stepfather—by pretending he was just offering an alternate point of view. He’d learned to keep his judgments to himself when it came to family. “You’re perfectly entitled to your hurt and outrage,” he’d been about to say, and I told him to come clean with you the other day. But stopped himself before he embroiled himself completely in their family drama. Step back, man.

  She slouched on the stool. “Thanks. I have to admit being angry with him is exhausting. But I’m still not ready to forgive and forget. I do need to talk to Mom though.” She scrunched her face up. “I feel really bad about that, actually. In fact, I’m going to get dressed while you cook, if that’s okay.”

  “No sweat. I took your stuff out of the dryer and hung it in the laundry room.”

  She moved off the stool. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” He smiled at her as he pulled a whisk from the drawer. “It’s all good. Breakfast will be waiting when you’re ready.”

  She came around the island. He turned toward her. Slipping her hand up his chest and curling her fingers around his neck, she pulled him down for a quick kiss. With a smile, she turned and padded toward the laundry room.

  Dylan watched her go and hoped their secret affair wouldn’t backfire on them. So many things could mess it up, and in Dylan’s experience one of them would. Some day.

  He only hoped that was a long time from now.

  SARA WISHED SHE could’ve spent all day or, really, all weekend, at Dylan’s, but she needed to make sure Mom was okay. She felt terrible about storming out the night before after saying what she’d said and even worse that she hadn’t taken the time last night to at least call Mom and apologize.

  After a lingering kiss on Dylan’s porch, she’d climbed into her car and glanced at her phone, which had several texts from various Archers and a voicemail from Aubrey Tallinger. Sara put her ear buds in and listened to Aubrey’s message, which she’d left earlier that morning.

  “Hey, Sara, it’s Aubrey. Sorry I couldn’t get back to you yesterday afternoon. I was tied up with a client. I know it’s Saturday, but feel free to call my cell when you get a chance. Your message sounded like it was pretty important. Hope everything’s okay! Bye.”

  Sara smiled. She liked Aubrey a lot. Hopefully she’d be able to help with Stealy McThiefson. Sara called her cell and scheduled a coffee date for that afternoon.

  By the time Sara pulled her car into the garage, her nerves were on edge. She gave her bracelet several calming strokes and then went into the house, bracing herself for impact like a crash landing.

  No one rushed her at the door. In fact, things were eerily quiet. She realized, sadly, her childhood home was like that a lot now.

  Instead of heading for the kitchen, she turned down the main hall, which intersected the first
floor and went toward the opposite wing, where Mom and Dad’s bedroom suite was located. She passed the great room without encountering anyone and continued to the end of the gallery.

  It wasn’t early, but it wasn’t the latest Mom had stayed in her room. When Sara reached the door, she took a sustaining breath and rapped somewhat loudly—the suite contained several rooms. “Mom?”

  Silence. She rapped again.

  Finally, “Come in.”

  Sara opened the door and closed it behind her. She went into the sitting room and saw Mom in her usual chair. She was dressed, her hair and makeup done. Maybe she’d already had breakfast and had gotten a good start to her day.

  “How are you?” Sara asked, unsure how to begin.

  Mom turned her head sharply and looked at her. “Please don’t tiptoe around me anymore. I don’t want that from anyone, least of all you.”

  No, she wouldn’t. Mom had always expected Sara to work hard, to try, to fight to succeed, which hadn’t always been easy, especially when she was younger. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left like that. You know I was mad at Kyle, not you? I don’t regret coming home to be with you.”

  “I know you don’t, sweetheart, and I know you were lashing out at your brother.” She turned to look out toward the yard. “He’s everyone’s favorite punching bag right now.”

  Sara couldn’t help but cringe at that description because she was right. Everyone was angry with him, yet he was here putting up with it. She expected he’d soon grow tired—or irritated—and leave. “He hasn’t given us a reason not to treat him like that. He abandoned us, Mom.”

  “He didn’t either.” Mom sounded weary, but there was a bite to her response. “I realize you felt abandoned, and I’m sure he’s sorry for that. He shouldn’t have left without giving you an explanation. All of that said, he’s entitled to make his own choices and we aren’t required to like them.”

  Sara carefully perched on the edge of a second chair—Dad’s chair—on the other side of the doors. “Are you saying you understand why he left? All this time I thought you were so disappointed that he went and that he rarely visited.”

  “No, I don’t understand and I hope in time he’ll share his reasons with me. And yes, I was disappointed in him, but if I’ve learned anything from Alex’s death, it’s that life is too short to wallow in such things.” She gave Sara a pointed look.

  Sara swallowed. Yes, life was too short. If something happened and she didn’t resolve things with Kyle . . . she turned her head and looked out at the lawn. A hawk swooped low over the trees and then darted toward the horizon.

  “I told Kyle the same thing,” Mom said, drawing Sara to turn back toward her.

  “Thanks.”

  Mom’s gaze dipped over Sara’s clothing, her brow furrowing. Yikes, she was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. She quickly stood before Mom could ask anything. “I stayed at my condo last night,” she offered lamely. “But I rushed home to talk to you. I think I’ll take a shower. Have you had breakfast?”

  Mom nodded. “Kyle made me an omelet.”

  Kyle hadn’t been cooking since he’d come home. Sara couldn’t remember the last time he’d cooked for them. Maybe he really was trying. “I bet it was delicious.”

  Mom smiled. “It was. What are you up to today?”

  Sara thought of her appointment that afternoon, but didn’t want to burden Mom with the situation with Craig. “I’m having coffee with Aubrey Tallinger later. We have some things to discuss relative to the project—zoning variances.” She rolled her eyes. “Very exciting.”

  Mom’s eyes glistened as she looked up at Sara. “Your involvement in this project makes me so happy. Is it too much for me to hope that you’ll stay in Ribbon Ridge permanently? The event space at The Alex could be a nice full-time job for you.”

  Yes, it could, and given the disaster that was her existing job, it might just have to be. But she’d worked so hard to prove herself, to be independent, to break away from everyone’s expectations and assumptions. “I don’t know. We’ll see what happens.” She leaned down and kissed her cheek. “See you later.”

  After doing yoga, showering, and keeping to her room to avoid her siblings, Sara left to meet Aubrey. Ribbon Ridge boasted several coffee shops and she’d purposely chosen something other than Books and Brew. She hoped Craig hadn’t ruined the place for her permanently.

  She walked into Stella’s Café, ordered a pot of tea, and chose a cozy table near the back. She didn’t want to sit up front where any number of people might be tempted to stop and chat. Ribbon Ridge was a small enough town that people often knew each other or at least found nearly everyone vaguely familiar.

  A few minutes later, Aubrey walked in. She scanned the interior and upon seeing Sara, raised a hand. She went to the counter and placed an order then joined Sara at her table. “Hi there!”

  “Hi, thanks for meeting with me on a Saturday,” Sara said.

  Aubrey hung her purse and jacket on the back of her chair. Yesterday’s downpour had turned to intermittent showers today. “No problem. You sounded pretty upset.” She sat down. “How can I help with this douchebag?” She flashed a smile that lit up her face. “To be clear, that was your word.”

  Sara laughed. “Yes, it was. Couldn’t help myself. I hired him three years ago, and he’s one of my closest friends. Was one of my closest friends. Apparently I was wrong.”

  “He’s been overseeing things while you’ve been here?”

  “Yes, I took a leave of absence, though I’ve been consulting with him as necessary.” In retrospect, she should’ve given him a raise at the outset, but she’d been too focused on other things.

  The server brought a tray with a teapot, cup, a variety of teas, and a selection of condiments. She turned to Aubrey. “What did you have?”

  “A mocha.”

  The server nodded and left.

  Aubrey set her elbow on the edge of the table. “Real quick, before I forget, I don’t think we’ll have any issue with the zoning variance on the property. It just takes time. I would guess it’ll be zoned commercial before the wedding is scheduled in August.”

  Sara hadn’t been fibbing when she’d told Mom they’d be talking about zoning variances. “Thanks, I’ll pass that along to the others.”

  “Back to your issue. You had a verbal agreement or something in writing?”

  “Nothing formal.” Gah, Sara hadn’t thought to put anything in writing. “I wasn’t sure how long I’d be here, so we just kept in close touch.” Which wasn’t difficult given that they’d been friends. She selected a lemon ginger tea, ripped it open, and set the bag in her cup. “Is that a problem?”

  “No, just gathering the facts. You said he’s already consulted an attorney?”

  Sara poured the steaming water into her cup. “His boyfriend.”

  “What’s his name?” The server delivered Aubrey’s mocha, decorated with a sun design in the foam. Aubrey smiled up at her. “Thanks.”

  “Taylor Sandridge.”

  “I’ll get in touch with him. You don’t have to talk to the douchebag anymore.”

  Sara was glad she didn’t have to communicate with him, even in writing. “Thank you, that’s a huge relief. I feel so betrayed.”

  “I can imagine.” Aubrey picked up her mocha and blew on it before taking a sip. She set the cup back in her saucer. “You said he’s stealing your clients. How?”

  “A couple of ways. He’s convinced the clients that I signed to stay with him in his new business. Plus, he’s signed new clients since I’ve been here. Are those he’s signed to his business contracted to him and not me?”

  Aubrey frowned. “Unfortunately, yes. However, do you know how he obtained these clients?”

  “Not specifically. Actually, he said that one called the business number and he signed her that way.”

  “So that person had the intent to speak with Sara Archer Celebrations—I looked you up—and ended up signing with your assistant?”
<
br />   Sara added a bit of honey to her tea. “I believe so, yes. Does that mean he broke the law?”

  “Not exactly.” She pursed her lips in an expression of distaste. “It’s certainly unethical, at least in my book.”

  It felt so good to have an ally. Actually, a second ally. Dylan had been pretty wonderful in his support. “Mine too, the jerk. What about the people who are contracted to me? He can’t steal them, can he?”

  “He can, but it would require those clients to breach their contracts. I doubt they’ll do that. But you have to ask yourself if forcing them to choose is worth it. I mean, if they want Craig and will be unhappy if they have to come back to you to avoid breaking their contract, do you really want to generate that kind of ill will?”

  “No.” Sara’s stomach knotted. None of the clients she’d left messages for yesterday had called back. Did that mean they preferred to stay with Craig? How would they feel if she forced them to use her or pay to break their contract? “I also don’t want to roll over and let Craig take this away from me. I worked really hard to build this business. Yes, he helped and I probably couldn’t have done so well so fast without him, but it’s mine. Sara Archer Celebrations.”

  Aubrey’s green gaze was kind. “I know, and you absolutely don’t have to roll over. You also don’t have to give him your business. You can still be Sara Archer Celebrations. He just won’t be working for you and you may not have the same clients. But let me ask you something: do you want the business or do you just not want him to have it?”

  “I want my business.” Mom’s suggestion burned in her brain. She could have a full-time business running events for The Alex. And that was also something she could build. “I have . . . options if he keeps the clients. But like I said, I don’t want to roll over.”

  Aubrey’s lips curved into a ruthless smile. “If Stealy McThiefson—also your phrase—wants your business, he’s going to have to pay for it. Let’s talk numbers, shall we?”

  Sara still wasn’t sure she could be satisfied with this outcome, but she didn’t know if there would be another way. She stirred her tea. “Let’s.”