Page 58 of If Only In Our Dreams

It was etched into everything he did.

Breaking his back for scraps of attention, and yet surprised when others gave him exactly what he’d been working for. As though he had stopped allowing himself to hope. How many times had he been disappointed?

How many people had ignored him till he screamed himself hoarse?

Till he decided he’d stop asking altogether.

It was dark aside from the light above the stove. Outside the front windows, Main Street was a ghost town of flickering fairy lights. Already the shops had begun decorating for Christmas. The hardware store had been the first, but the rest were quick to follow.

As I made my way down the hallway toward the living room, I wasn’t sure what I was about to walk into. Half of me wanted to forgo dinner and conversation altogether. That half wanted to push Robin to the couch, to climb atop him, to kiss him till he was breathless and warm and his chilled cheeks were red for an entirely new reason.

The other half of me understood that things were more complicated than that.

The more I got to know Robin the more I wanted to care for him.

And if I kissed him—if I took what I wanted so freely—without having built trust first, I might shatter what little of his confidence there was left. Plus…part of me was terrified that if I pushed too hard, too soon he’d run.

I didn't need to worry, apparently.

Because when I took that last step out of the hallway Robin wasn’t waiting, eager as a puppy on the couch for me like I’d hoped. Yes, he was on the couch. But there was nothing bright-eyed and bushy-tailed about him. He’d tipped over, his face squished against the cushions, body contorted in a way that made me cringe.

My back would have ached for weeks after performing a stunt like that.

Robin’s white-blond hair was a mess around his face, his hands tucked tight against his chest like he had tried to make himself as small as possible. Like he was scared of taking up too much space. And most devastating of all…my coat—my still-chilly coat—was curled beneath his cheek, his sweet little face pressed tightly into it like he was seeking comfort from it.

Like something about me made him feelsafe.

My knees became weak, and for a moment I had to lean against the wall so they wouldn’t buckle. Because if there was one thing that had just become obvious to me it was the fact that Robin was my kryptonite.

Sleepily, with a muffled groan, Robin cracked one eye open, like he’d sensed my presence. “Were you scared?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Was I…” It took me a moment to remember the fact he’d made it his mission to frighten me. That day at the airport felt like it’d occurred years ago, not a few short days.

“At the haunted house?” Robin clarified.

“No, sweetheart,” I countered, voice low and soft.

“Bah humbug,” Robin sighed. And then, afterthatparticularly adorable grumble, he fell right back to sleep again.

I woke up when a beam of sunlight poked me vindictively in the eye. With a quiet groan, I batted it away in the hopes of getting it to stop shining so fucking brightly.

“Is he dead?” a little voice asked.

“He just moved,” another one replied.

I felt pretty dead, but Iwasmoving, so I could only assume they were right. When I squinted my eyes open Rosie and Jane were standing creepily by my head, their big golden eyes wide. They were dressed in frankly the most adorable pajamas I’d ever seen. Looked like little Victorian dolls, all ruffly and sweet. Kinda like the twins fromThe Shining.

“Papa’s making breakfast,” Rosie explained.

I nodded, even though my brain was not online yet.

Coffee. I needed coffee.

“Papa’s making breakfast,” I agreed stupidly so that they’d stop staring at me like they wanted to poke me with a stick.

“Yes,” Rosie nodded emphatically. “With chips.”

“Chips?” I squinted, trying to figure out what the hell that meant. Potato chips? Tortilla chips?

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