Page 5 of Unearthed Dreams
I filed away his odd reaction, but honestly, I was too caught up in the romance of it all to give it much thought. Here wasliving proof that all those novels weren’t just fantasy—sometimes the best love stories started with a business contract and a courthouse wedding.
“I cannot believe,” Natalie said slowly, “that you two managed to pull this off without anyone figuring it out.”
Something fierce and protective crossed across Elliot’s face as he looked at Tessa. “Look, what matters is where we ended up, not how we started. And where we ended up is that I love my wife. So maybe we keep this between us?”
The way Tessa looked up at Elliot then, like he’d hung the moon and stars just for her... I swallowed hard, thinking of the way Trevor had smiled at me over those fallen books. I traced the condensation on my water glass, wondering if I’d ever be brave enough to take the kind of leap Tessa and Elliot had. Not just in love, but in following my dreams. My manuscript waited upstairs, as much a secret as their marriage arrangement had been.
God, they were living proof that true love could grow from the most unlikely beginnings. And maybe, just maybe, sometimes the scariest choices led to the best endings.
Chapter Two
KAI
Mornings weremy favorite time of day.
Silent.
Peaceful.
Lonely.
It was the only time the bar belonged to me—which it didn’t, technically. No music, no shouting, no drunk confessions slurred over sticky countertops.
Just quiet.
I unlocked the door leading from the apartment upstairs into the bar, stepping into the stale remnants of last night—spilled beer, citrus rinds abandoned on the floor, the faint trace of cheap perfume lingering in the air.
I could have cleaned last night, but I was always fucking exhausted by the time the last of the regulars filtered out. Plus, it was better to save some work for the morning—gave me something to do. Something to keep my mind occupied.
Except today, Ididhave something to do—two somethings,actually. One of them meant the bar didn’t even need to be cleaned, but leaving it like this would only make it worse. A more foul-smelling mess later.
I flipped on the lights and walked behind the bar, running a hand over the worn wood. It was solid, reliable. Unlike most people.
First stop: the register. I counted the cash, cross-checked it with the closing report. No shortages. Good. The last thing I needed was to play detective over twenty missing bucks.
I pulled a bottle of water from the cooler and leaned against the bar, flipping through the inventory sheet. Whiskey was low. I’d have to call in an order before noon.
The hum of the ice machine filled the silence as I checked the taps, making sure nothing was clogged. Walk-in fridge next—beer stocked, garnishes prepped, nothing growing mold. I restocked the napkins, adjusted a few bottles on the shelf just because they looked off-center, then grabbed the clipboard with the week’s schedule. Someone had already texted about switching shifts. Of course.
It hadn’t taken me long to get through my list of chores this morning. Before heading upstairs for a shower, I poured myself a coffee from the pot I’d started earlier—black and strong. I took a slow sip, letting the warmth settle in.
With the extra time, I gave my beard a trim. It had been just this side of scraggly, and I woulda caught hell for it where I was headed next.
Still, I had time to kill. Pineview Cottage was about an hour away, just north of Petoskey, but visiting hours didn’t begin until ten. It was the best memory care facility in northern Michigan, and it was expensive as fuck.
The bar didn’t make much in the way of profits—just enough that I could live comfortably and keep myself fed. The fact that I lived upstairs and was more or less a recluse didn’t hurt.
I was lucky Billy had squirrelled away what he had over the last thirty-five years, but it still wouldn’t have been enough. Using Kelsey’s life insurance money toward giving her father a comfortable place to live when his mind was failing him was the least I could do.
I didn’t get down there to see Billy as much as I wanted, but knowing the bar would be closed today meant I had more time on my hands to make the trip.
It also meant that I’d have another two hours of solitude in the car.
I grabbed my paperback ofWind and Truth—the latest Brandon Sanderson book and the last in the first arc of theStormlight Archiveseries—and flopped onto my bed.
It was about the onlynicething in this apartment. I’d spent a good four grand on this bed. If I was going to be on my feet all day, every day, at least I could sleep comfortably. At six-foot-four, in most beds, that was hard to do.
In this California King, I could sleep diagonally. Because I slept alone.
