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Gone.
I feel a sense of loss because he didn’t stop. Because I wanted him to. Because there’s something about him that I want to know.
There’s something about him that I feel like I do know.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, listening once again to my music.
The dark haired stranger doesn’t come back.
* * *
The rain might make Oregon beautiful, but at times, it’s gray and dismal. The sound of it hitting the windows makes me sleepy, and I itch to wrap up in a sweater and curl up with a book by the window. At night, when it storms, I dream. I don’t know why. It might be the electricity of the lightning in the air, or the boom of the thunder, but it never fails to trigger my mind to create.
Tonight, after finally falling asleep, I dream of him.
The dark-eyed stranger.
He sits by the ocean, the breeze ruffling his hair. He lifts his hand to brush his hair out of his eyes, his silver ring glinting in the sun.
His eyes meet mine, and electricity stronger than a million lightning bolts connects us, holding us together.
His eyes crinkle a bit at the corners as he smiles at me.
His grin is for me, familiar and sexy. He reaches for me, his fingers knowing and familiar, and he knows just where to touch me, just where to set my skin on fire.
I wake
with a start, sitting straight up in bed, my sheets clutched to my chest.
The moonlight pouring onto my bed looks blue, and I glance at the clock.
Three a.m.
Just a dream.
I curl back up, thinking of the stranger, and then curse myself for my ridiculousness. He’s a stranger, for God’s sake. It’s stupid to be so fixated on him.
But that doesn’t stop me from dreaming about him again. He does different things in my dreams. He sails, he swims, he drinks coffee. His silver ring glints in the sun each time, his dark eyes pierce into my soul like he knows me. Like he knows all about me. I wake up breathless each time.
It’s a bit unnerving.
And a bit exciting.
After two such nights of fitful sleep, rain and strange dreams, Finn and I kneel in front of plastic storage boxes, sorting through stuff from my closet. Piles of folded clothes surround us, like mountains on the floor. Rain pelts the window, the morning sky dark and gray.
I hold up a white cardigan. “I don’t think I’ll need many sweaters in California, will I?”
Finn shakes his head. “Doubtful. But take a couple, just to be safe.”
I toss it into the Keep pile. As I do, I notice that Finn’s fingers are shaking.
“Why are your hands shaking?” I stare at him. He shrugs.
“I don’t know. Do you feel like we’ve been here before? In this same time and exact place? Is your heart ok? Have you had chest pains?”
I’m alarmed because what new craziness is this?
“My heart is fine,” I tell him firmly. “I’m fine, Finn.”
