Page 67 of Dreamscape Therapies

When I knock, Jay answers almost immediately, and the warmth in his smile makes the entire disaster of my day feel worth it.

"Hey, you."

He waves me inside, his eyes dropping to the bags in my hands. "How are you doing? Is the bar okay?"

I love that he asks. I love that he cares.

"It's as okay as it can be. We're closed until tomorrow at the earliest. Maybe longer, depending on what the contractor finds in the morning."

"I'm so sorry."

I shrug as I follow him inside. "What can you do?"

We make our way into the kitchen, and I stop dead.

"Holy shit. You actually painted it yellow."

He ducks his head, blushing as he starts pulling plates from the cabinet. "I told you I was serious."

"Yeah, but people say a lot of things."

I set the food down on the counter and watch him move around his kitchen. There's something strangely domestic about standing in his home with dinner spread across the counter while he fusses with plates, and I realize how much I like the feeling of it. It's comfortable in a way I haven't expected.

"I'm not used to anyone actually following through."

Jay pauses, and when he turns to look at me, his expression has changed. Those dark eyes are suddenly serious.

"As a friend, that makes me incredibly sad for you. As a therapist, I want to dig into that."

"Nope." I point at him. "No therapy until after dinner."

He pouts. "Fiiiine."

I have to physically stop myself from leaning forward and biting his lower lip.

Instead, I turn my attention to the food. Jay opens one of the containers and takes a deep breath, making a pleased little sound that goes straight through me.

"This smells amazing."

"Yeah, well." I clear my throat and adjust myself discreetly before he has a chance to notice. "It's from my favorite place."

He looks up and spots the wine. "Wine?"

"You can't have Italian without wine."

I say it with complete confidence, like I didn't spend ten minutes staring helplessly at bottles while a sommelier silently judged every life choice I've ever made.

"Right. Of course."

He's smirking as he moves toward the china cabinet to get glasses, and I watch the way his jeans fit as he walks away.

I immediately regret having eyes.

Tonight is either going to be the best decision I've ever made or the worst. Knowing us, it's probably going to be both.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Pine needles warmed by the afternoon sun fill the air around us. Jay is several yards ahead of me, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans as he walks leisurely down a narrow trail winding through the forest. Sunlight filters through the towering trees overhead, dappling his dark hair with streaks of gold that make him look almost too perfect to be real.