Page 2 of Fall I Want
“I hope so,” she says.
“Hate to change the subject, but guess who visited me last night?” I singsong.
“Oh, Mr. Dreamy?” She grins wide.
It’s the nickname I’ve given the tall man with dark, messy hair who has haunted me like a ghost in my dreams for thirteen years. It’s a good omen when Mr. Dreamy arrives. It usually means somethingbigis about to happen, something life changing.
“Tell me everything.” She plops onto the office desk and swings her feet as I count the loose coins, stacking them in tens.
My expression softens and I replay it in my mind like a movie. “We made out, a lot.”
“Of course,” she says, because that’s typical when I have dreams about him.
“He told me to be patient a little longer and that it will work out. Oh, and he called me Pumpkin in that deep growl of his.” I sigh. “Then I asked the stupid question and was jerked awake.”
Anytime I have a dream about this mystery man, I ask him if it’s real, and it pushes me awake. When I woke up this morning, my heart was pounding hard in my chest. I tried to close my eyes and fall back into the fantasy, but it was useless.
“I hope he’s real,” she says. “Because whoever you date next will have some big fictitious shoes to fill. Your subconscious has created the perfect man for you, and I’m not sure anyone can live up to him.”
I laugh. “Honestly, I feel the same.”
I have a journal where I’ve scribbled down my Mr. Dreamy dreams. Because he swept me off my feet each time, I planned to put the scenes in a future romance book. At least I will one day, when I go back to it.
“Maybe you should write about Mr. Dreamy and trash what you wrote when you were with Sebastard. I’m convinced you can’t finish your novel because the story reminds you of him.”
“I don’t think that’s the reason,” I admit, but heisresponsible for stunting my creativity.
“Hmph.” Julie was never and will never be a fan of my ex, Sebastian. If he crawled back tomorrow, apologized for everything he did and admitted he was a cheating bastard while kissing the ground I walked on, she’d still dislike him. After the first time they met, she said he was a sleazy fuck boy. Her first impression of someone has never been wrong.
“I’m not writing anymore, Jules. At least not right now. You know that.” I squeeze past her and move through the storage area to the front counter.
“You should. You’re wasting all that talent.”
It’s a valid opinion because I’ve always let her read everything I’ve written, from my teenage poems to short stories about butterflies. I’ve left her on the cliffhanger of a lifetime, and she’s been upset I won’t finish it because she loved the characters. She’s more invested in the story than I am.
Julie follows behind me, flicking on the main lights. The hums of the multiple espresso machines fill the quiet room. It’s the only time they can be heard.
As I slide the cash drawer into the register and flick on the computer, Julie whips us up two strong shots. Taking them together before our shift for the day has been one of our traditions for over a decade. “You made me promise I wouldn’t let you give up.”
“We’re back on that again? Come on.”
“I had a repeat reminder to bother you all day about it. Sorry, but you knew what you signed up for when you asked me to remind you about how bad you wanted this.”
“I appreciate the monthly nudges, but I’m not ready.”
I used to be a hopeless romantic, now I’m just hopeless.
“Disagree. Authors who write thrillers with serial killers don’t murder to legitimize their story. Watch some romcoms or porn, maybe both? Get the emotional aspects with one and the physical with the other.”
Scents of freshly brewed coffee waft through the large space.
“I’ve tried it all. I have the literary version of erectile dysfunction. I don’t believeeverlastinglove exists, and it’s kind of a requirement. Happily ever afters and all that. How do I create when the magic is gone?”
“Start small, like a haiku,” Julie says, grinning.
“Are you serious?” I ask.
Julie moves to the junk drawer where we keep extra pens and notebooks. Back in the day, it’s where the phone books were kept. She finds a small leather-bound book and flips through it.
