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Lord, if I’m asleep, keep me dreaming.
A wicked little part of me kinda loves how Tobin knows about us and seems to approve.
He’s warmed to me ever since we started working on the antiques together. There’s a kinder man behind his frosty exterior. And also a man who cares deeply about Ridge’s life and his happiness.
Jackie knows, too, I think. I see the way she looks at Ridge and me.
She hides her smile well, but the knowing twinkle in her eye gives her away every time.
Dad might be the only one we’re fooling, though I wonder for how long.
He’s getting better every day, his senses coming back, and the sudden thaw helps.
It’s warm enough for him to sit outside a few minutes on sunny days now. He takes short walks around the farm and visits the barn. There, he catches up with the horses and curses out Cornelius for bursting his eardrums.
There’s even better news from Dr. Abrams. She says that while she can’t be certain until he goes into town for X-rays and sees a cardiologist, she highly doubts he has congestive heart failure.
She thinks the ER doctor made a snap judgment that was wrong, and his issues were just a bad case of pneumonia all along.
I hope to God she’s right.
I also wonder if Dad is nursing his recovery to keep Jackie Owens around longer.
He’s found a friend in her, and vice versa, I think.
The nurse is in no hurry to return to town. Her son and daughter-in-law both work, her grandson is in school, and Jackie sits home watching game shows and baking cookies—which only she eats because the rest of her family went on a vegan kick. She swears you can’t make a good cookie without eggs.
The lady does make some fabulous cookies.
Tobin agrees and welcomes her baked treats in the kitchen.
We all do.
Yeah.
When you add it all up, there are too many reasons why I’m constantly scared I’m dreaming. The weird, peaceful limbo we’ve fallen into with everything so eerily quiet and the warmer weather adds to the surreal sense.
It’s been several weeks since the media leak and our big announcement at Libations.
After the incident with Ridge’s truck, there haven’t been any signs of Clay or his goons.
We’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s inevitable, and every little noise at night makes me jump, thinking this is it.
So far, I’m wrong.
But for how long?
Heaving out a sigh, I pick up the last tea cup candle I’d made for Amy’s daughter, Josie, and set it in the crate with the others. Josie just turned six, and she’s having an elegant tea party for her birthday.
I’d offered to make a few favors for all of her guests.
So I’d found a box of old china in the shed—white with pink flowers. Many of the plates and bowls were in freakishly good condition, not even chipped. I’d found ten perfect cups with matching saucers.
Since then, I’ve secured triple wicks to the bottoms and filled them with layers of colorful wax.
I’ve also poured the leftover wax into some mason jars for more candles.
On impulse, I pick up a match, light one of the candles, and then stare at the soft, flicking flame as Mom’s words float back to me.
If you’ve got a light, you’ve still got a wish.
Do I dare?
Maybe, today, I do.
I just wish…I don’t even know what to wish for when it’s such a heavy, scary thing to put into words.
I want this to last—living here, with Ridge—but I know it can’t.
The flame has fizzled out, so it’s too late anyway.
I set down the match and look at the candle, its flame still lashing away.
Shaking my head, I lean down and blow it out.
Even if I’m ready to start wishing again, this isn’t the day to give it the respect it deserves.
“Ready, darlin’?”
I turn, smiling at Ridge because I can’t not smile at this man.
“Yes, we’re all set,” I tell him, turning to the boxes on the table.
It’s insane how little it takes to lose control when it comes to him, especially when it comes to my heart.
Right now, I see his smiling face, blue eyes beaming like lanterns, a brown jacket that hugs his shoulders so tight I can see right through it. God, I can feel those arms around me, strong enough to engulf me in the sweetest kiss or fling me around like a toy.
You’d better believe I’m a sucker for both.
He stirs me up without even trying.
And that scares me almost as bad as Clay Grendal finding us.
He walks over and picks up the box, then looks at the contents and flashes his slayer-grin. “These are sweet. I think she’ll love them…not that I’m an authority on kids.”
I put on my coat but don’t zip up because it’s warm and sunny, probably in the fifties today.
