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He watched while she examined him as closely as she had during their initial encounter. A flush rose to his cheeks as he struggled not to feel self-conscious. Her probing gaze roamed all over his body, starting from the scraggly chestnut hair atop his head and working down his lean frame. He tried to hide the crimson scar that started below his right knee and disappeared into the top of his sock, but there was no way to conceal it. She looked back up at him, the frown returning to her lips.
Stephen shifted on the rock and scratched the back of his neck. “Just a little accident,” he mumbled, glancing away from her. The touch of her hand on his arm made him jump, and he was sure the color of his face grew darker by the moment. Trailing her fingers down his skin toward his hand, she laced them through his.
The unexpected gesture made his heart race in his chest. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but it had been so long since he had shared physical contact with another person. Discomfort washed over him, and he felt as bumbling and awkward as he had when he was an inexperienced teenager. His shy tendencies had never completely dissipated and, over a decade later, he still found himself searching for the right things to do or say.
Her fingertips on his cheek increased his nervousness, and she directed his face back toward hers. He had no choice but to maintain eye contact with her, and he tried to breathe steadily and relax when he saw her sympathetic smile. Much like their first meeting, he lost himself in the depths of her striking green stare. His inclination to disrupt the silence with witty words or demanding questions disappeared, and he was content to do nothing but share this space with her. When she reached up to resume her caress of his cheek, he closed his eyes.
***
In a flash, Stephen woke up to find he had been transported back to the mundane safety of his bedroom. The digital clock on the nightstand displayed the time to him in the early hours of the morning, but it did not remain the object of his attention. Though the first hints of sunlight peeked through his window, the relative darkness of the room emphasized the glow emanating from the stone resting near his head.
Without getting up from the bed, he grabbed the crystal and held it in front of his face. The two similar dreams, along with their timing concurring with his discovery of the small stone, were too much to be a coincidence. Through the haze of both his literal and figurative awakening, the more rational part of his brain struggled to find a logical explanation and came up short.
Despite much of his slumber being consumed by the realistic dream, Stephen was wide awake and restless. He needed to do something, find an outlet for the sudden surge of energy taking him by surprise, as it had been so long since he’d last felt one. For the first time in many months, he was able to ignore the dull pain in his leg which plagued him every morning, and he quickly threw on some clothes. Before setting out in search of an appropriate channel, he grabbed the crystal and kept it nestled in the palm of his hand as he left the room.
His gaze rested on the various art supplies in the corner of the living room, the ones he hadn’t touched for several days. He placed the crystal on the windowsill, where it sparkled in the first streaks of the sunrise, and set a fresh, primed canvas on the easel. Paints were mixed, his brushes were prepared, and he sat down to create.
His first inclination had been to depict the pristine pond in the woods that sat at the base of the waterfall. He had painted so many similar landscapes in the past, however, the idea didn’t hold much appeal. Although portraits had never been his strong suit, even in art school, he yearned to capture the woman who visited him while he slept. The urge to have a visual reminder of her with him during his waking hours pushed his doubts away, and he cemented his artistic vision with his first brush stroke, forgoing a preparatory sketch.
Hours passed, and Stephen only moved from his seat when necessary. The days were growing shorter, and he was determined to take advantage of every possible moment of natural light to work. When the afternoon sun dipped below the trees, he realized he hadn’t eaten anything yet, and he dragged himself away from the painting to prepare a quick meal. Sandwich in hand, he returned to the easel to study his work.
It was far from finished, and it became obvious to him some of his skills were rather rusty. Even with his initial hesitation, he was mostly satisfied with the foundation he had laid. The outline of her head, the darkest layer of golden curls, and the first facial details were arranged to his liking, though he’d had nothing but his brief memories to draw upon. Beyond the horizon, the sun was rapidly sinking, and the room would soon be too dark for his comfort. Abandoning his sandwich, he grabbed a brush and his purest green pigment.
There was so much more to do, and it was little more than a vague approximation. Her large, round eyes began to stare out at him from another plane. Before he sat back to examine his day’s productivity again, something else caught his attention. The crystal still glowed with resolve, almost casting a light of its own onto the canvas. Stephen picked it up. Nothing about it had changed, and his mind wandered back to deciphering its true purpose. Clearly, it was somehow tied to the dreams he’d been having, but the link had yet to be revealed. He returned it to his pocket, choosing to keep it close to him as he neatened up the area and carried his supplies to the sink.
He rinsed out the brushes, and as the water washed the paint away, his previous doubts trickled into his consciousness. The questions that had been vexing him all along came rushing back. Wasn’t he placing an awful lot of emphasis on nothing more than a dream? Was this all some conjured fantasy from the deep recesses of his brain? Was he starting to go crazy in the seclusion of the woods?
A variety of answers floated through his mind for the rest of the evening. Stephen completed his new bedtime ritual of examining the gleaming stone and running his fingers over its smooth surface before turning out the lights. “I know you’re real,” he whispered to the darkness. “Come to me tonight.”
Chapter Four
A walk through the forest brought Stephen his desires, and he was greeted by a warm smile and an outstretched hand. He took his seat next to her on the rock and stared into her clear jade eyes. “Who are you?” he blurted out. “What am I doing here?”
Her fingers rose to her lips, and he realized he would not receive a verbal response. “I know. I’m sorry, I forgot,” he said.
She took his hands in hers and gave them a squeeze.
“I just…I…” He struggled to find the right words. “We keep meeting in…wherever we are. Maybe we should start to get to know each other?”
Her smile returned, and she let go of one of his hands. Gently, with a touch so soft he wasn’t sure whether he imagined it, she put a finger to his chest. Sunlight glinted off the bangle around her wrist, and she cocked her head to the side. Raising her eyebrows, she silently returned his questions.
He wasn’t accustomed to being the center of attention, nor did he like talking about himself at great lengths. Even so, the desire to please the beauty before him outweighed his inhibitions. “Uh…okay. I guess I should start with the basics.” He wrinkled his nose and tried not to make his monologue as awkward as he expected it would be. “My name is Stephen MacClare. I lived most of my life in New York City before moving up here. Well, not here, but, you know…” As soon as the words left his mouth, he cursed his foolishness. “Do you know where New York is?”
She shook her head.
“Sorry. I should have known.” Feeling like this was almost more of a job interview than a friendly conversation, he did a quick mental check of the timeline of his life and searched for the bits which would make him sound interesting. “I paint. Ever since I can remember, there was nothing I loved more than taking a vision that was only in my head and making it tangible, making it real. Colors, textures, shading…it all fascinated me.”
He stared off into the distance as he revealed his passion, and her hand on his shoulder drew his attention back to her. She moved closer to him so the side of her body pressed against his and nodded, urging him to keep going. “It was the one thing I was always good at,” he said. Though surprised when she rested her head on his shoulder and gave his hand another squeeze, he wanted to fill the silence between them. “I thought I could make a career out of it, but they don’t like to tell you in art school how painting isn’t the most lucrative profession. So, I did a lot of temp work and restaurant jobs in the city while I waited for a big break which probably would never come.”
Stephen sensed he was starting to ramble and he didn’t want to bore his companion. “I thought moving out of the city would help me find the inspiration I needed. It didn’t.” The familiar flush of heat rose to his cheeks, and he continued on, figuring he had nothing to lose. “Until now. I…uh…I’ve been painting you,” he confessed.
She sat up straight and stared at him with an unreadable expression in her eyes. He shrank away beneath the intensity of her gaze and looked down. “I’m sorry. That’s kind of weird, I know.”
She shook her head vigorously and tilted his face back toward hers with a finger on his chin. He thought he saw the beginnings of another smile appear at the corners of her mouth, yet he didn’t have much time to observe it before she leaned closer to him. Her lips brushed against his, and she slid her hand down to his chest, letting it rest above his pounding heart. His mouth opened and her tongue slipped inside, entangling with his own.
***
Stephen was about to reach up to stroke her hair when he found himself sitting straight up in his own bed, gasping for air. He was alone in the dimly-lit room, and disappointment gripped his chest as he realized there was no pond, no waterfall, and no enticing woman sitting beside him with her hands on his body. A groan escaped him, and he rested his elbows on his knees, burying his head in his hands. “Damn it.”
