Page 62 of Dreamscape Therapies

"Anything you do is okay with me."

I mean every word.

For a moment, neither of us moves. We just stand there, caught somewhere between what we've said and what we're both too afraid to do. Then Jay rises onto his toes and closes the last inch between us, his lips brushing mine in a soft, tentative kiss that ends almost as quickly as it begins.

It's barely enough to count as a kiss, and somehow it still turns my entire world upside down.

I kiss him back before my brain has a chance to catch up, savoring the warmth of his lips even as he pulls away. It's gentle and sweet and nowhere near long enough to satisfy me. I want more. I want everything.

Jay stares at me with wide eyes, looking just as stunned as I feel.

"I… That… We…" He clears his throat, his cheeks already turning pink. "I really shouldn't have done that."

"Probably not." I can't stop smiling. His horrified expression makes me laugh, and I shake my head before adding, "That was dangerous. I could become addicted to your kisses."

I've never seen someone turn that shade of red before.

"You're dumb," he mutters, fidgeting with the edge of his sweater vest.

"I'm your dummy, though."

I poke him lightly in the arm, and the corner of his mouth twitches before he finally gives in and laughs. I laugh with him, the sound filling the office and making the space feel warmer than it did a few minutes ago.

For the first time in what feels like forever, the fear doesn't seem to fill every corner of the room. It's still there, waiting for me, but it isn't the only thing I can feel anymore.

There's something else here now.

Something warm and hopeful.

Chapter Twenty-One

Jay

The next week settles into a routine I can measure and analyze, which is probably the only reason I don't lose my mind completely. Vincent shows up three afternoons a week with coffee, black for himself and always some new sugary concoction for me.

I've started keeping mental notes on which ones he brings, even though I'd never admit that to him. The hazelnut caramel Frappuccino with chocolate drizzle from two days ago is still my favorite, although I'm fairly certain he knows that because he keeps looking at me expectantly every time he hands me a new one.

Our sessions have become easier, though they're no less draining. The nightmares haven't disappeared, but they've changed. The weaver no longer appears, and Vincent isn't waking up panicked anymore. Instead, I'm teaching him to recognize the seams in his dreams before the dread has a chance to take over. The techniques don't prevent him from waking, but they're giving him enough control to keep his heart rate from spiking, which means he's able to fall back asleep much more easily afterward. He's making real progress, and I'm proud of him.

Outside of our sessions, though, things have stalled.

We haven't kissed again.

Not because we don't want to. We definitely fucking want to. It's almost as if we've taken that first kiss, carefully placed it inside an invisible box, and silently agreed that neither of us is going to open it.

Instead, almost every evening after my last appointment, I find myself at Whistler's.

One burger, one beer, and one conversation in the corner booth have somehow become part of my routine. Vincent sits across from me with his hands resting on the table between us, and I find myself noticing things I probably shouldn't, like the calluses across his palms from years of bartending or the way his fingers move when he's talking about something he's passionate about. I like watching him talk. I like listening to him laugh even more.

By the third night, Mia stops asking if I want a menu.

By the fifth, my burger and a local lager are already waiting for me at my usual seat.

Our conversations wander everywhere except the one subject we're both carefully avoiding: us.

He tells me stories about running the bar, and I tell him about the renovations on the house. We talk about terrible customers, construction disasters, and whatever else happens to come up, all while pretending there isn't a ridiculous amount of tension building between us. It's there in the way his dark blue eyes follow me when he thinks I'm not looking and in the way his voice drops when he leans across the table.

I notice things I shouldn't.