His eyes are exactly the same.
There’s a smirk in his voice. “Slow down, will you?”
It’s what he said to me in bed days ago, teasingly, his voice a guttural rasp. As we stare at each other now, eye to eye, I’m back there, held by him.
Still in a senseless trance, I press a hand to Penn’s cheek. His gaze remains steady, his lips parted, and when he sets his hand over mine, I wait for him to lift it. To kiss the inside of my wrist.
But he doesn’t. Penn lets out a breath of a laugh, his face scrunched up in confusion as he sets my hand on the bed. “Tequila’s a hell of a drink, huh?”
My brain struggles to catch up to the moment.
Right. We don’t do that here.
Another voice, a soft echo somewhere in the back of my mind, says:Yet.
I swallow hard and push my hair behind my ears. It’s long again. And when I look down at my nails, they’re painted ballet-slipper pink. I take a breath, glance up at Penn, finally conscious enough to feel embarrassed by how intimately I just touched him.
With very real heat in my cheeks, I shrug. “Wait till you meet Rum Ruby.”
Penn laughs, a light jingle, and I can see it: how we’ll find our way back to each other.
Then he shoves my shoulder, flattening me back against the bed.
Okay.So we’re not quite there yet.
As I lie there, stupefied, a starfish in his sheets, he sighs and says, “Stay there, Sleeping Beauty. I’ll go find my reinforcements so you can get out of here.”
Time is meaningless to me now, so it may be two or two thousand minutes before Bridget and Ryan rush into the room. At the sight of them—Ryan still in his ridiculous hamburger-print button-down and Bridget in her silky green halter top, both looking worse for the wear—I turn weepy. It’s them.Realthem.
I open my arms, overwhelmed. “You’re here!”
They exchange a look.
I gesture again for them to hug me, and when they realize I’m serious, they oblige. Bridget crawls into the bed while Ryan sits beside me, studying me.
“I love you,” I tell him, still crying. “And you’re—you’re okay.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Are you?”
I put a hand to my chest, nodding. “You guys, I had thewildest…”Tripis the word that comes to mind, but that doesn’t capture it. Neither doesjourney, which I simply can’t bring myself to say, lest I sound like a contestant on a reality show.
I look around, wondering where Penn’s gone, and my gut hollows out. I can’t stomach the thought of what we shared being anything but real. Because it wasn’t a dream. I’m not sure of much, but I’m sure of that.
For believability, though, I use the word anyway.
“I had the wildest dream,” I tell them, fighting to tamp down all my mixed-up emotions. “You were there, exactly the same,” I say to Bridget. “And you, too,” I say, facing Ryan. “But your hair was long and swoopy, and you were wearing capri pants. With a scarf. You went to Italy, and you usedsummeras a verb.”
Ryan’s brows lift. “Italy, huh?”
Bridget cackles. “That’s what you got out of that?” Her laugh fades into a sigh as she shakes her head.
“Was Penn there?” Ryan asks.
“Nah. I’m only in her nightmares.”
I turn to the door, where Penn stands, grinning. “Hey there, Dorothy,” he says. “Let’s get you some sustenance before you break into song.” He carries over a makeshift tray full of food: two plates arranged on a massive hardcover book. “Eggs, toast, and—”
“And butter,” I croak out, looking up at Penn. “Did you already butter the toast?”
