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Recognition finally hits me. “You’re Daisy, Cash, and Johnny’s friend, and—” I swallow nervously. “D. Jankowski,” I say in an ‘I can’t believe we’re actually in the same room’voice. “You illustrate Dario’s graphic novels.”
Of course, I’d known Dream’s full bio when Johnny suggested asking Dream’s partner for assistance in taking down the Reivers. I’d downplayed that I was totally fanboying at the connection. Since Jack Navarro keeps Dream totally separate from the work he does for Archie Hendrix’s organization, I’d never thought there would be an opportunity to get to meet Dream.
“You’re one of the best illustrators working on graphic novels today,” I gush at him.
“Looks like I have myself a fan,” Dream says, his dimples popping out as he smiles at me. “People telling me I’m wonderful never gets old.”
“You deserve it,” a deep voice sounds from the doorway as Jack Navarro, a scary-looking, dark-haired man wearing a tight shirt that shows off impossible muscles, strides into view and wraps his arms around Dream. “Because he’s right.”
Jack turns my way. “Eli.” He nods at me, then looks toward Jeb and does the same. “Cash called and said you’d be paying us a visit.” He pulls away from Dream and slides into the booth, sitting so he faces us. He aims a threatening glare our way. “I showed up to make sure you aren’t using Dream as a go-between, trying to get me to join in on another one of your crazy plans.”
“Relax,” Jeb says, leaning back and draping a casual arm on the back of the booth. “It’s Eli’s birthday, and I just wanted him to have a chance to meet one of his favorite artists.”
I turn toward Jeb. “That’s why you wanted to come here?” I ask incredulously. “So I could meet Dream?”
The cool confidence he showed Jack is gone, and in its place is that strange shyness. “I wanted today to be special,” he says softly, breaking eye contact.
I tip his chin up so he has to meet my gaze. “It is,” I tell him, nearly lost in the blueness of his eyes. “But even without the robot museum or meeting Dream, it would have been special because you always make everything that way,” I tell him, punctuating the sentence with a kiss that I hope shows him I meant what I said.
As always, I get lost in the taste of him, and when Jeb deepens the kiss, I forget my surroundings and clutch the fabric of his shirt with one hand while I run the other wildly through his hair.
“See baby, aren’t they sweet? They remind me of us.”
I jerk back from Jeb to see Jack’s unimpressed glare. I feel an embarrassed blush crawl up my skin for getting carried away while kissing Jeb in front of two virtual strangers. One of whom I’ve wanted to meet since I first saw his work.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Eli.” Dream says. “Jack may look all gruff and disapproving, but he and I have pretty much fucked around on every inch of this place.” He gives Jack a flirty smile. “Including this table.”
Jeb barks out a laugh, while I have to fight from grabbing the antiseptic wipes I keep in my pocket and disinfecting the table.
Seeing my horrified look, Dream rushes to reassure me. “Oh, don’t worry, we bleached it afterward.”
Dream turns his attention back to his partner. “Come on, Jack. Now that you’ve successfully done your whole intimidation thing, let's let these two lovers have a nice dinner.” When he holds out his hand, Jack slides smoothly out of the booth, and engulfs Dream’s hand in his own. The two of them walk hand in hand out of the section.
“I’ll be back with your food in a Jiffy,” Dream calls out.
“We didn’t even order.”
Jeb gives me a mysterious smile. “It’s a set menu.”
I nod, and then I try to count to sixty in my head, but I don’t make it. I only get to twelve before I have the wipes out and am sanitizing every surface around me.
Jeb lets out a large, bellowing laugh. “Surprised it took you that long.”
Just then, Dream makes an appearance carrying a large tray. He sets it down on a stand and places a tureen, two bowls, and a basket with linen-wrapped contents on the table. The aroma of the food hits my nose, and I immediately recognize its scent, which reminds me of home.
“Is this matzah ball soup?” I ask incredulously.
“Johnny once mentioned you loved it,” Jeb confirms. “I tried to ship the soup from a deli in New York that he said was your favorite, but they were doing some renovations and were closed.”
He nods to Dream. “When I was setting up this meeting between you two, I asked Dream if I knew where to get good matzah ball soup in Chicago, and he said he had it covered.”
Dream lifts the lid to the tureen and ladles it into our bowls, then pulls back the linen on the basket, revealing sliced challah bread.
My mouth waters. “This all looks homemade.”
“Yep,” Dream says, while opening a small bowl of applesauce. “Dolcestarted out as an Italian restaurant, but the owners wanted it to reflect the different cultures who lived in the neighborhood, so it adopted a multi-cultural menu. On Sundays, we have a member of the neighborhood come in as a guest chef to make their specialty.” He nods to the food on the table. “Abe is a retired plumber from New York, and every few months, he ‘guest chefs’ and makes matzah ball soup. When Jeb called and mentioned what he was looking for, I just asked Abe for a little favor.”
“Thank you,” I say, completely touched that this complete stranger, who also happens to be an idol of mine, went to all this trouble for someone he barely knows.
