“I’m good. I love you.”
“Love you, baby.”
I put on a movie, close my eyes, and let darkness wash over me.
I never seem to sleep anymore. My dreams are too vivid to feel like I ever truly rest. It’s like I step into another world—into that waiting room in my mind. It’s a simple white room, books piled on the floors waiting to be shelved on the bookcases built by Asher. My characters are there. Some sitting, some standing, some animated in their excitement to be next on the page. I see my heroines, my heroes, my villains, all waiting. I walk by the characters I don’t know yet, but it isn’t them I’m looking for.
I’m looking for him.
It feels so real, seeing him standing there.
He smiles, and my heart does all the things it always did around him.
Too fast.
Too slow.
Just right.
He pulls me close and I swear I can feel him. I can smell him. Feel the warmth of his chest, his arms around me, the kiss he places on my head.
I squeeze my eyes closed, holding onto him for as long as I can, because I know the moment I speak, the dream will end, and he’ll be gone.
I open my eyes. Credits are rolling on the movie, the white text on black screen lending little light to the room. Asher’s face is still fresh in my mind and I shiver, wishing I could go back to sleep just to see him again. When I stretch my legs out, I realize Motor is gone.
“Motor?”
I lean up, scanning the room. He’s sitting by the front door, his tail wagging.
And being between the dream and sleep confuses me, because I smile.
“Asher.” I spring to my feet and run for the door and open it to no one. I look around, heart racing, cheeks still wet. “Asher, I?—”
I step forward and something crinkles under my foot. I cover my mouth, tears flowing freely as I pick up the white and pink orchid someone left behind.
Chapter 23
Ella
“Morning, Ella. Morning, Motordog!” Sandra beams at me from behind the counter. “It’s not Sunday; how come you’re both here?”
Since moving home, I returned to my original flower shop. This was the same shop my mom bought flowers from, and we came here every week when she was alive. Coming back here always feels like home. Like between the bunches and buckets, I might stumble upon my mom sneaking flowers, apologizing for taking so long.
I approach the counter, clutching the orchids from the porch. “I know, but I was wondering, did someone come in yesterday and buy these?”
Sandra puts down her pen and takes the flowers, inspecting the wrapping. “It doesn’t look like our style. Have you been cheating on me, Ella Gibson?”
I smile. “They were delivered yesterday, but there was no card.”
“I’m sorry, honey. We don’t carry this kind of wrapping. It must have been from another place.”
I’d thought as much. I’m not even sure what I wouldhave done if Sandra had confirmed it—watched the CCTV and hoped to see a ghost?
“Got a secret admirer?” Sandra asks.
“Or a stalker. Depends how you look at it.”
I buy another orchid and drive to the cemetery. While I visit every day, I usually only bring flowers once a week, so when I arrive, the orchid I’d placed on Asher’s grave is still fresh. I place the newer one down anyway, and I spread out the blanket I always bring. I sit, Motor curling up at my side.
