Page 23 of Dreaming of Dawson

It wasn’t like Aunt Bernie to panic or to be so pessimistic, and I did my best to reassure her. “Then we’ll manage,” I said. “I’m sure it won’t be for long.”

She seemed calmer by the end of our call and I returned to Dawson in the bar, explaining the situation to him. He asked if I was gonna be okay to get home, and I said I was. What I didn’t tell him was that I planned to walk. After all… what was he gonna do about it? The man was in no state to drive.

Dawson hides it well, but there’s no doubt about it, he drinks. A lot.

He keeps a bottle of vodka to one side behind the bar, and although I haven’t seen him pour any into his glass, I wouldn’t mind betting that the drink which spent the evening masquerading as water was anything but. Add that to the bourbon I’m fairly sure was in his coffee this morning, and the evidence feels conclusive.

Owning a bar isn’t the ideal set-up for someone with an alcohol problem, but it didn’t seem to affect his work. I’ve watched him, and he didn’t once slur or falter. He didn’t get a single order wrong, and was completely steady on his feet. The only clue was that, by the end of the evening, he was struggling to focus… just slightly.

Has that changed my opinion of him?

Not at all. I still like him, and I’m still attracted to him… and, regardless of everything Aunt Bernie said this morning, I want to help him, too… perhaps even more than I did before.

If he’ll let me.

I get back to Aunt Bernice’s place, surprised by how cold and lonely the house feels without her. It’s silly really. She’d have been tucked up in bed long ago, even if she’d been home, but the place seems so quiet, and I don’t particularly want to sit up by myself, so I grab a glass of milk and take it through to my bedroom, not switching on a single light, until I get there.

Undressing is the work of moments, and I leave my clothes on the floor, glancing at the time, and letting out a groan whenI see it’s already nearly twelve-thirty in the morning. I’m due at Peony’s place at nine… so I’d better get some sleep.

The bar’s empty. We’ve just closed for the night and while Dawson locks the door, I collect the glasses from some of the tables.

“Leave that,” he says and I turn, surprised to find he’s right behind me.

“But we should clear…”

He shakes his head, stepping closer, and pulls me into his arms, his lips crushed against mine in a desperate kiss.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he says, kissing me again, and flexing his hips, letting me feel his arousal.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifts me into his arms and sits me up on the table behind me… from which the glasses have miraculously disappeared. He parts my legs, standing between them, and places a finger beneath my chin, raising my face to his.

“Stop me if this isn’t what you want,” he murmurs.

“It’s exactly what I want.” I gaze into his eyes, noticing how they darken slightly.

“In that case, don’t stop me…”

I’m suddenly naked, although I don’t know how, and he pushes me down onto my back, raising my legs, and bending down to lick me, intimately. I’m screaming his name, thrashing wildly on the table.

“You taste so sweet,” he murmurs, unzipping his jeans. I want to look at him, but there isn’t time, and I let out a loud gasp as he enters me, taking my breath away.

“More,” I urge. “Give me more.”

He smiles, nodding his head, his eyes sparkling, and takes me harder… and harder, until we both come loudly, and he collapses onto me, kissing me and murmuring something about love…

My eyes open. It’s dark and I’m too hot. I’m so hot, my skin is on fire, and I throw back the covers, struggling to breathe.

I’ve never had a dream like that in my life, and I let my hands wander over my naked body, trying to remember… trying to recapture that glorious moment…

I wake to wintry sunlight, overwhelmed with disappointment. My dream is still fresh, but I didn’t recapture it. That brief excerpt was all I got, and it wasn’t enough. I slept well, though, because I don’t think I’ll ever forget how it felt to be wanted like that, even if it was make-believe.

Still, it’s time to get back to the real world, and I turn over, picking up my phone to check the time and let out a yelp of surprise. It’s seven forty-five already. I must have forgotten to set my alarm, and I leap out of bed, taking advantage of Bernice’s absence, and rushing straight into the bathroom, regardless of my lack of clothes.

I take the quickest shower in history, get dressed in jeans and a sweater, and swallow down a bowl of cereal, putting my coffee into a travel mug before setting off for the orchard.

It might be sunny, but it’s cold, and I’m relieved to get there, and get indoors again.

“You’re looking very pleased with yourself,” Peony says as I take off my coat.

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