Sweet Dreams (Sunset Dreams Series Book 1)

by Senhaji, Jennifer

  Maybe that’s why this is freaking me out right now!

  As the light goes on, the figure turns and faces me with his hand up in a wave. I take in a relieved breath of air at the sight of his beautiful face and walk toward the door to unlock it.

  Smiling at my famous customer as he stands there blowing on his hands, I greet him. “Hey there, you scared me again. I thought you were some creep stalking me or something. I didn’t know it was you.”

  “Yeah, sorry, I know how that feels.” An awkward silence follows while we stand in the doorway. “Umm… my day starts pretty early and I know you’re not open for another thirty minutes or so, but I need coffee. Any chance you have some ready?”

  Nodding, I say, “Sure, come on in. I already started the coffee, it’s not quite ready, but should be in a minute.”

  He walks past me through the doorway and I notice how tall he is compared to me. Still not as tall as I imagined when seeing him on screen, but he definitely has a head on me. I lock the door again behind him and follow him toward the counter. His hair is a shiny jet black and not hidden today by a baseball cap. His shoulders are broad and his arms hang long next to his sides. Even through his clothes, I can tell he has the perfect amount of muscle.

  “So, no music this morning?” he says with a teasing tone in his voice.

  “Yeah, umm, the loud music is my Monday morning ritual. You would think by now, since I have to get up early every day, I would be used to it. Unfortunately that’s not the case. I will never be a morning person. I need special incentive to get up on Mondays. I hate Mondays.”

  Jacob smiles as I fill a cup of coffee for him and hand it over the counter. “Thanks. Do you mind if I grab a stool for a moment? I don’t want to disturb you or anything, I just need a couple of sips to get me going. It’s cold today.” He wraps his hands around his cup and sips his coffee.

  “Sure, hang out as long as you want. I’m going to finish setting up.”

  He takes a seat at the counter and sips his coffee while looking around a bit. Feeling nervous around him, I keep him in the corner of my eye, not sure if I should leave him alone or make small talk. I decide to leave him alone. He seems content at the counter as I continue to set up for the morning rush. As I fill the pitcher of milk, I sneak a peek at him and distracted, end up spilling the milk over the edge.

  “Ah, schnookies!” I bend down with a rag to wipe up the milk that has poured onto the floor and hear him softly chuckle.

  “What, exactly, is a schnookie?”

  “Sorry, I spilled the milk, don’t mind me,” I say in a mumble, as I crouch down to wipe up the spill.

  “No use crying and all that, right?” He leans over the counter to see and says, “Can I help?”

  I look up at him from my crouching position on the floor, feeling embarrassed. “No, I’m okay. I’ve got it, thanks.”

  He leans back and the stool scrapes against the floor. “Well, I have to be going. Have a good day.”

  Standing up, I say, “You too,” and he’s gone again as quickly as he appeared, having left a $5 bill on the counter.

  The rest of the week, he comes in every day around the same time, and after knocking on the glass, I unlock the door and let him in. He pulls out a stool and waits for his coffee while I set up, occasionally making small talk. He seems like a regular guy to me, kind of quiet, not pretentious at all.

  A very hot, regular guy. Sigh…

  During the week, Barb, one of my regular customers, tells me she heard the new Jacob Walker movie is being filmed one town over.

  So that’s why he’s here. Makes sense.

  “My sister Julie went over to the film shoot, or location, or whatever you call it. Guess what Jacob Walker did?” Barb says beaming.

  “What?”

  “He stayed after they finished filming and signed autographs for every person there. Julie said there were at least a hundred people and instead of waving to the crowd and rushing off, he stayed, spoke to everyone, and took pictures. She said he was really nice and very gracious with his fans.”

  “That is really cool.”

  I guess no one else here in town has seen him. I feel kind of special now and am glad I didn’t tell anyone he’s been coming in. Like he’s my own little secret in the mornings.

  Friday night, I put everything away, getting ready to go home, and I check the clock on the wall and see it’s after midnight.

  Time to go.

  Grabbing my bag, I turn off the last of the lights, lock the door, look both ways, and cross the street. It’s cold out and I’m exhausted, but it was a good week and I’m looking forward to collapsing in my bed. It’s only four blocks home and the wind has died down, making the evening air tolerable as I walk slowly toward my cottage, keeping my hands in my pockets.

  The street is so empty for a Friday night. Maybe the cold is keeping people in tonight.

  One couple walks in the opposite direction and then it’s only me. It’s so quiet. A chill creeps up on me, one that has nothing to do with the weather, but that alerts my senses to my surroundings. Turning around, I check to see if anyone is following me, but there’s no one there. I can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching me, and in response, my pace starts to quicken. Turning the corner and looking both ways to make sure again that no one’s there, I cross the street and continue the half block to the cottage. I turn around one more time before jogging up the steps and quickly opening the door. Once I walk in and turn on the lights I feel better, but as I lock the door, I see a shadow across the street turning back around the corner in the direction I came from. I don’t know if it’s my imagination or the fact that I’m really tired, but I think someone may have been following me.

  That night, I toss and turn, never really reaching that stage of satisfying sleep I need, as I’m consumed by a dream about someone chasing me.

  Chapter Four

  All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them. Walt Disney

  Another early Monday morning starts with me rocking out to “I Love Rock and Roll” by Joan Jett and The Blackhearts while I steal glances at the front door, hoping a certain someone will come in early again today. He doesn’t, and I’m disappointed. On Wednesday, Jacob comes in right as I open.

  “Well, good morning!” I say with a smile, happy to see him again.

  “Good morning. Your coffee is spoiling me. I’m late, but I wanted to grab a quick cup on the way to work.” As I hand him his coffee, he pulls a $5 bill out of his wallet, grabs a muffin from the tray on the counter, and with a bite of muffin in his mouth says, “Thanks, see ya around.”

  “See ya around,” I say as he walks out the door. He doesn’t come back Thursday or Friday morning. I think while my coffee is spoiling him, his company in the mornings is spoiling me.

  I’m getting addicted.

  I really feel my withdrawal on the days when he doesn’t come in.

  On Friday night, around 11:30 p.m., I bend over to wipe down the tables and hear the door open behind me. I turn, at the same time saying, “I’m sorry, we’re closed,” and see Jacob standing in the doorway looking at me.

  Was he checking out my butt? He was totally checking out my butt.

  “Oh, too bad, I was hoping for something warm.” He has one hand on the door and is ready to turn around and leave again.

  Surprised to see him, I quickly say, “Well not much left and the coffee is gone. What are you in the mood for?”

  With a smirk on his face, he raises his eyebrow at me and my cheeks heat up. He waits for a beat and then says, “Actually maybe some tea if that’s not too much trouble?”

  Gathering myself, I walk behind the counter. “Oh, tea, sure, that’s easy. What kind? We have Earl Grey, English breakfast, or we have some really good herbal teas?”

  “Earl Grey please with a little milk, if that’s okay?”

  He likes his tea the same way as I do. “Brilliant, Earl Grey should always be served with milk,” I say autom
atically in my best British accent.

  Jacob snorts.

  Oh God, did I say that out loud?

  How embarrassing.

  I must be tired as affecting the same accent, I hand him the tea and say, “Here is your tea, sir. Will there be anything else?”

  He smiles and says, “No this is good, thanks,” and sits down at the stool he occupied before.

  Is he staying?

  I hesitate for a moment. “I’m just closing up.” He doesn’t move, so I wipe down the tables and turn off the sign in front, making sure the door is locked. “Let me know when you’re ready to leave and I can let you out. I need to put some stuff in the back.”

  He nods and says, “I’m good.”

  In the kitchen, my heart races at the thought of him here, at night, in the café with me after hours, and I take a deep breath. All sorts of fantasies run through my head, some of which are not so ladylike.

  Jenna, stop!

  Making sure everything is in order and taking another deep breath to calm my nerves, I turn off the kitchen lights and find him sitting on the stool that I will now always think of as his as he sips his tea. I wonder what he’s doing here so late.

  He turns to me as I enter and asks, “All done?”

  “Yep, but you can finish your tea.” Behind the counter, I look through the mail that came in today to prolong our time together.

  This is sad.

  He grabs a lid off the counter and says, “Nonsense, that is what to-go cups are for. What do I owe you?”

  I look up and shake my head at him. “Don’t worry about it, I already locked up the register anyway.”

  He stands up and says, “Let’s go.”

  For a split second I’m caught off guard and don’t know what to say.

  Who would have ever thought Jacob Walker would be standing in front of me saying let’s…anything?

  I push the thought from my head. I’m standing here like an idiot and he’s waiting for me.

  Putting on my coat, scarf, and hat, I take my bag off the counter and turn off the lights as he follows me to the front door. Letting him out first, I lock the door behind me.

  “Well, I’m that way,” I say with a sigh, pointing left down the street.

  He points right and says, “I’m that way, but I want to finish my tea before I drive home. Is it okay if I walk with you for a few minutes?”

  I’m taken aback, not expecting this, and stumble on my words as I say, “Uh, yeah, sure,” and start walking in the direction of home as he falls into step beside me. I stare straight ahead, try not to look at him, but keep him in my periphery just the same.

  Should I say something?

  This is crazy.

  Remember, he’s a normal guy.

  A normal guy that smells like sunshine and looks like a Roman god.

  “So you open and you close. You work a lot of hours,” he says between sips.

  Turning slightly toward him as I walk, I respond. “Well, yes, but I’m not always there. Anyways, you are always coming from or going to work when I see you, right?”

  I watch him for a response as I walk and he shrugs his shoulders. “True, but I work on projects that have a beginning and an end. Even though I work a lot of hours while on a project, I have periods between jobs when I can take time off, you know, to relax and enjoy myself.”

  Three blocks have passed in the blink of an eye.

  Why does time speed up when you don’t want it to?

  We’re across the street from the cottage now. “Well, I should be getting home, I have an early day tomorrow.”

  He looks down at me and says, “Yeah, me too, but I can walk you to your door.”

  I smile, look both ways before crossing the street and say, “That’s not necessary. I live really close by.”

  “It’s all right, I don’t mind.”

  We cross the street together, my hands in my pockets, his hands wrapped around his cup. I feel giddy and try not to let the giggles bubbling at the surface escape.

  Jacob Walker is walking me home.

  Relax, don’t be a dork.

  Standing at the foot of my stairs, I point up at the door. “I don’t usually let strange men walk me to my door.”

  “I’m not a strange man,” he says, sounding offended.

  I laugh quietly. “Well, I don’t know you. You could be a psycho,” I say teasingly.

  He smiles. “Nah, we’re friends, right?”

  “We are?” My eyebrows go up into my hair line.

  “Sure we are.” He holds out his hand. “Hello, my name is Jacob Walker, but my friends call me Jake.”

  Smiling, I take his warm hand in my freezing cold one. “Hello Jake, my name is Jenna Morris, but my friends call me Jen.”

  We shake hands for a moment and he smiles down at me. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too.” I look toward my door and he starts to walk backwards away from me.

  “See ya around, Jen,” he says, smiling.

  “See ya around, Jake.”

  He smiles one last time and turns and walks back toward the café. I watch his back for a moment and then turn and walk up the steps and into the cottage. After I close the door, I run to my bedroom and dive onto my bed, still feeling the heat of Jake’s hand in mine.

  Gah!

  Chapter Five

  I never sing in the shower. It’s very dangerous. Jimmy Fallon

  Another week passes, and Jake comes in everyday for coffee and a pastry. I convince him to try different ones each time. He always arrives early, right after I open, with a smile on his face and a “Good Morning, Jen,” on his lips. He never stays more than the time it takes to grab a coffee and a pastry and a few minutes of chit chat, but seeing him every morning puts me in a good mood for the rest of the day.

  I don’t see him on Saturday and Sunday.

  I wonder where he goes on the weekends?

  The following Monday morning, at 6 a.m., I set up as I listen to Pitbull’s “International Love.” I woke up in a great mood today. I had a dream where I think I was traveling abroad, I can’t really remember, but I know it was a good one.

  I grab oranges from the fridge behind the counter as I sing and dance along.

  A deep voice behind me chimes in on the last verse and scares me silly.

  “Ahhhhhhhh!!!”

  I swing around and throw an orange in the direction of the voice and Jake ducks out of the way just in time.

  Turning down the stereo, I scold, “Geez Louise, I thought I told you not to sneak up on me!” I’m breathing hard and my face is red from the embarrassment of being caught singing again.

  Jake takes a step, picks up the orange and says, as he bounces the orange off his forearm, “I thought I told you to lock the door so some weirdo doesn’t creep up on you.”

  Catching my breath, I say, “Well, I guess you were right. Exhibit A; weirdo creeping up on me.”

  He places the orange on the counter. “So, Pitbull today, huh? Different from your New Politics rock out I caught you in last time.”

  “What can I say, I like lots of music.”

  He tilts his head to the side. “That’s a very general statement.” He pulls out his stool and takes a seat.

  I look at the clock on the wall. “You’re early today.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t want to be in a rush this morning.” Jake’s eyes sparkle and I smile at him.

  Ivy green? No.

  “Well, let me put these down and I’ll get you some coffee.” I gather the rest of the oranges and place them in the bin next to the juicer. “I’ll be right back.” I leave him sitting at the counter and go back into the kitchen to get clean pitchers for the milk and bring them back out front. When I get there, Jake isn’t on his stool. I don’t see him and call his name.

  “Yeah, over here, just looking at what’s going on in the world.”

  I find him standing in the news and book section, on the other side of the café, glancing down at the morning paper. I strol
l back behind the counter and brew the coffee as he wanders around the café looking over the books and periodicals I have on hand.

  “So, the reading selection, how do you decide what to carry?”

  I respond as I fill the coffee supplies. “I stock the daily paper, the standard fashion magazines, Time, National Geographic. I try to stay away from the tabloids.” I glance at him to see his reaction.

  “Yeah, I see that. Ninety-nine percent of what they write is BS anyway,” he comments while continuing to look around.

  Prepping the coffee bar I add, “As for books, I try to keep up on the best sellers and carry what I like.”

  Jake picks up a book. Reading the jacket he asks, “Do you read all of these?”

  “No, not as fast as they come in, but I choose what I want to read and carry those until I have a chance to. Do you like to read?”

  He looks up, and puts the book back on the shelf. “Yes, I do, but I do so much reading for work that I rarely read for pleasure anymore.” Motioning to the collection on the shelf he notes, “The variety here seems to match your music tastes. Suspense, Romance, Sci-fi, very diverse.”

  “What do you like, when you have time?” Maybe this will give me a peek into the mystery that is Jacob Walker.

  He looks over at me and smiles. “Lots of things.”

  Taking his cue I say, “Well, that is a very general statement.” I finish pouring out a cup of coffee and put a pastry in a bag.

  Jake comes over and points to the frame behind the counter. “What is that?”

  “Oh these are ticket stubs from concerts I’ve been to.”

  Jake reads some of them. “Eric Clapton, Earth Wind and Fire, Cheb Mami, Imagine Dragons, Dave Matthews, 30 Seconds to Mars, Gypsy Kings, One Republic…you really do like lots of different music.”

  “I do. How about you? Do you like going to concerts?”