And then I freeze.
Make myself pry open one eyelid and peer at the blurry, furry figure currently trying to climb my head.“Pebb?”I croak.
She yips.
Am I dreaming?
Is Pebbleshere? She’s supposed to be—wait.Wait.
I bolt straight upright, feel my brain bounce against my skull, and then feel it scream in protest. My brain isloudthis morning. So loud it’s drowning out the soft hum of voices somewhere beyond my bedroom at the farm. And my head is swimming. And it’s hot in here. And I don’t remember the last time I ate, but I remember it was delicious.
Not delicious enough to keep me from falling back against the bed with a groan, though. Mornings are the work of the devil.
“You’re awake,” a husky voice says nearby.
Pebbles leaps back onto my chest and licks my neck while I process that sound.
I am definitely dreaming.
I have to be.
Because there’s no way Dylan’s in my bedroom in Costa Rica.
Am I in my bedroom in Costa Rica? Did I fly here? Did my mother ruin my business meeting? Did I post that video telling my family to fuck off and confessing all my sins to the world before insisting Naomi drive me back to the farm so I could die here in peace?
Or was it all a dream?
I’m not still in Tickled Pink, am I?
“Naomi says you haven’t had anything to drink or eat since you went to bed the night before last,” Dylan says. “C’mon, Tavi. You can go back to sleep after you have some water and a little food.”
I force myself to pry both eyes open, and a sexy, rumple-haired, five-o’clock-shadowed, dimpled plumber with the kindest worried brown eyes slowly swims into focus before Pebbles climbs onto my face, blocking my view.
My heart hiccups. My eyes burn. My throat gets thick.
Ifthisis a dream, I’m disowning my subconscious and never sleeping again. I try—and fail—to lift my dog away. My arm’s asleep, and I can’t figure out how to work the other one. “Dylan?”
“I’m right here, my beautiful badass.”
Pebbles disappears, and there he is again, squatting at the side of my bed so that we’re eye level.
There’s a breeze rolling in through the window, fluttering the light curtain, the shadows suggesting it’s much later in the day than I thought it was. A monkey chatters somewhere outside. The scent of fresh bread wafts into my room.
And there’s Dylan, touching a hesitant hand to my hair. “Hi,” he whispers.
“You’re here,” I whisper back.
“I’m here.”
“But ...why?”
“I take care of the people I love. I didn’t know how to do that without being here with you.”
My eyes burn hotter. “I lied to you.”
“I forgive the people I love too.” One side of his mouth hitches up.
I do not deserve this man. I don’t.
