by Owens, Wendy
“I’m right here, one step at a time. I’ve got you, okay?” he encourages me.
I look at him then back at the hallway. On the other side of that door is the real world, the place where I watched my husband die. I can’t believe there is a world where I am now alone, only looking out for me again. I glance back at Christian, feeling a chill run down my spine.
In that second I realize, I’m not alone; if I let them, I have my friends all around me, helping me one day at a time.
Three Years Later…
PULLING OUT ONE of the cardboard boxes from underneath the counter, I carefully lift and place it on the counter top, running the knife down the row of packing tape. I haven’t seen my designs since I sent the revisions from the prototype off to the manufacturer. Taking a deep breath, I swallow hard and prepare to open the box, hoping this time they got it right. There is no more time for do-overs. There is just enough time to get the bulk order back before for the grand opening.
Opening one side of the box, and then the other, I peek through squinted eyes. I don’t see anything too alarming at first glance—no clown costumes mistakenly packaged inside. Pressing my eyes wide open, I first run my hands along the pieces of clothing, taking in the textures. Pulling out the brown pants, I lift the corduroy to my nose and, with a deep inhale, smell. I’m surrounded by newness, and it’s intoxicating.
Holding the pants out in front of me, I inspect the small plaid patches on the knee and the sliver just above the pockets, smiling at the perfection, pleased I’d made the choice to change things up at the last minute. Next, I pull out the faded denim button-up shirt, the beauty of it in the simplicity. Then at the bottom I see the piece that brings the outfit all together. It is the most delicious cream-colored, lush alpaca-haired vest. The medium-colored cowboy boots that came in the week before are a perfect complement.
Pushing the box to the side, I lift up the next, a small pink ribbon on the front of the label. The excitement in me is growing with each passing moment. I waste no time slicing into the box, my heart melting as I pull out the dress, masses of cream and soft pink tulle, billowing out from under the layers that are draped and synched with the signature pink bow.
A bell chimes behind me as I hear the door open and close. I smile at the sound of Christian’s voice. “Oh, I know you didn’t lift those boxes up on your own, right?”
“Well, I looked around for some big, strong man to do it for me, but then realized we were in short supply of those around here and decided to do it myself.”
“Ouch,” he groans as he comes around the corner, clutching his chest as though my words wound him deeply.
“Aren’t they beautiful?” I ask, staring at the newest pieces of the collection to arrive.
“They are, but certainly not the most beautiful thing in here,” he says, lifting his chin and staring at me. It is that stare that, in my youth, made me uncomfortable, but the one that I now drink in with ease.
“Uh-huh, beautiful is about the furthest thing I feel right now,” I say, pressing a balled up fist into my lower back.
Seeing my discomfort, Christian hops up and immediately takes action, leading me over to a nearby wooden chair and assisting me as I sit carefully. His hands run over my shoulders, and I moan as he begins to work the tension from my muscles.
“You know you shouldn’t be working this hard,” he comments.
“We open in a matter of days, so if I don’t work this hard, we’re not going to be ready.”
“That’s what I’m here for. You need to lean on me a little more,” he insists.
“That’s sweet, but you already built all of the furniture in this place by hand, and somehow managed to even find time to carve the clothing figures as well. I think you’ve done enough.”
“We’re a team, Mrs. Bennett,” Christian says, and from his words I can sense his smile.
“Is that right? Well then, Mr. Bennett, I’ve been here all day stocking, where have you been?” I tease.
Christian lifts his hands, and I worry he may not realize I am just kidding. He walks around to the front of me, and lowering to one knee, he places a hand on my perfectly round belly and says, “I’ve been working on a surprise for the three of you.”
“What?” I gasp, surprised by the news.
“Yup, and I think you’re going to love it.” Standing, he extends a hand in my direction. I rise to my feet, arching my back to support the cumbersome weight of our unborn twins. When I’m finally upright I stare at him for a moment, his eyes so full of happiness that my heart aches. It’s hard to explain, but when you were raised to feel like you deserve nothing in life, to have two men love you the way I have is quite overwhelming.
“All right lumberjack, where we headed?” Lumberjack is the name I’ve endearingly labeled my darling husband with. When we decided to open the clothing store in Bastrop, Christian declared he would not shave until opening day. I never realized just how sexy a full, bushy beard could be. I’ve come to love the way it tickles when he kisses my stomach, and now I don’t want him to part with it.
“You’ll see.” He knows I hate surprises, which is why he insists on springing them on me constantly. I follow him out the front door, and it clangs shut behind me. Waddling down the wooden steps, I stare curiously at Christian when he stops only a few feet from the front of the shop. I look around us, but see nothing.
“Okay, I give up, what’s the surprise?”
“Look up,” he replies with a smile.
I turned toward the store, looking up over the display window and gasp as I take in the most beautiful piece of art I’ve ever seem carved onto a hunk of redwood. There, in big scrolling letters are the words Henry and Ella’s, painted over with a soft blue and pink. Below that, in small script are the words Children’s Boutique, painted in white. The background of the sign is the natural wood, and all along the edges are intricate engravings of leaves and vines.
“Christian!” I exclaim.
“Okay, hear me out. We knew we were going with my mother’s name, Eleanor, for baby girl, but it seemed like we were having a hard time settling on a boy’s name since Colin and Emmie named baby Thomas after Dad. I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and I wouldn’t have you if it weren’t for him. Hell, we wouldn’t even have this shop; he found this building for you. It seems like it’s only right we name our son after Henry.”
My heart feels as though it might burst. I stand, staring at the sign, unable to speak.
“Okay, now I’m getting nervous, did I overstep? You hate it, don’t you?”
I shake my head no, leaning forward and wrapping my arms around my husband’s neck. “I think it’s absolutely perfect.”
“How’d she take it?” Colin shouts from the open gallery door across the street.
“She took it great!” I yell back, laughing.
Emmie emerges with Tommy in her arms and Olivia running out ahead of her. I watch as they cross, joining Christian and I in the street. This is it, here, all around me. This is what Henry meant. I was his family, and he wanted me to have the same thing after he was gone. He would always be a part of our lives.
Christian’s lips touch mine, and my heart aches as he confirms this is real. I sigh as I think about my life, and how sometimes things don’t always happen how we want them to or how we dream of them, but there is happiness out there for us if we’re willing to let it in. Love like this, heart aching happiness—it’s not only in dreams.
FIRST, THANK YOU to my readers. Without you, what I do would have no purpose. I also want to thank Sarah Hansen, the cover of Only In Dreams is better than anything I could have ever imagined.
One of the biggest thanks goes out to my editor, Madison Seidler. Your honest and tough feedback helped me turn this book into something I’m very proud of. Thanks as well to Chelsea for polishing up the final product.
A shout out to JT Formatting. This was our first book together, and you took a crazy situation on directly, delivering a beautiful book for my readers.
Sometimes being an indie author can make you feel like you’re on an island. Thanks to ladies like Samantha Young, Ella James, Amy Miles, and the countless others who take the time to lend advice or sometimes just an ear. Your provide power when I am running low.
To my husband, thank you doesn’t seem like enough. You work hard building your own business, but somehow always manage to find time to help me. Your support keeps me going, and I always know if I have a 2am meltdown, you will be there to hold me together. You’re a pretty darn good kisser too, so thanks for that.
For my three beautiful children, thank you for tolerating my schedule when deadlines are looming. Thank you for the unconditional love. And thank you for the endless inspiration you provide me with.
WENDY OWENS WAS raised in the small college town of Oxford, Ohio. After attending Miami University, Wendy went on to a career in the visual arts. After several years of creating and selling her own artwork, she gave her first love, writing, a try.
Wendy now happily spends her days writing—her loving dachshund, Piper, curled up at her feet. When she’s not writing, she can be found spending time with her tech geek husband and their three amazing kids, exploring the city she loves to call home: Cincinnati, OH.
YA PARANORMAL
The Guardians Series
Sacred Bloodlines
Cursed
The Prophecy
The Lost Years
The Guardians Crown
CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
Stubborn Love
Only In Dreams
For more info on Wendy’s novels visit:
http://wendy-owens.com/
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author