Dream On(13)

A grunt snorts in my ear before a wet tongue licks my chin. I look over to find myself at eye level with a dog’s snuffling snout.

Wait, I’m on the floor. How did I get on the floor?

“You fainted,” says the florist.

I scrunch my nose. I must have said that last part out loud. A dull ringing fills my ears, and my head throbs as I push myself into a sitting position. At least a nearby display of chunky-knit blankets cushioned my fall. The last thing my Swiss cheese brain needs is a concussion. The dog wags its tail as he nudges my hand. I pat him absently.

“I—what? Where’s Devin?” I whip my head to look around the shop and immediately regret it. The pain intensifies, and I rub my aching skull. Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought.

The man’s eyes narrow. “You know my brother?”

“Brother? Your brother is Devin Bloom?”

“No, he’s Devin Szymanski. I’m Perry Szymanski, and you’re in Blooms & Baubles,” he says slowly.

“Devin Szymanski. Blooms & Baubles. Devin Bloom,” I mutter under my breath. Fantasy and reality come crashing together into an incomprehensible tangle. My vision turns blurry as I stare sightlessly at the floor. “I dreamed of Devin. But Devin is real. What does it mean?” I whisper.

“It means you hit your head pretty hard. I’m calling an ambulance.” Standing, the florist—what did he say his name was, Gary? No, Perry—strides toward the counter.

“Wait!” I shove roughly to my feet. Gravity is not my friend today though, and I lurch to the side.

Perry lunges for my forearm, steadying me before I topple over like a domino. “Whoa, there. Take it slow.”

I wave him away. “No more doctors. I need to find Devin.”

His expression clouds as he studies me, suspicion crowding out concern. “You need to sit.”

A heady mixture of panic and desperation wells up inside me, and I snatch two fistfuls of Perry’ T-shirt at his collar and jerk him toward me until we’re nose to nose. His eyes widen and he sucks in a shocked breath.

“You don’t understand,” I enunciate. “I need to talk to Devin. When will he be back?” I fight the urge to shake him like a rag doll.

Nostrils flaring, Perry peels my fingers off his shirt one by one. Once he lets go, he backs up, putting a good five feet of space between us. “I don’t know.”

My knees threaten to buckle at the loss of contact, or maybe because my head feels like pudding and I can’t quite grasp this new reality—the one where my imaginary boyfriend actually exists. I shuffle toward the counter, intending to lean against it for support, but before I can reach it, Perry procures a stool from God knows where and shoves it underneath me. I slump onto the circular seat, the panic leaking out of me as quickly as it came and confusion taking its place. Burying my head in my hands, I dig my fingers roughly through my hair.

Perry’s jaw tenses as he studies me. “He did it again, didn’t he?” Cursing, he rubs his temples like he can scrub away a memory. “Look, I’m sorry if my brother gave you a fake name at a bar or something, but just so you know, he recently got out of a bad relationship and isn’t looking for anything serious right now.”

“What? No, that’s not it at all. Wait—was he in a relationship with a woman named Cassidy?”

“No.”

“So you’ve never seen me before?”

“Not before you walked into my shop and started freaking me out with the fainting and the psychokiller stare.”

I ignore the dig. “But that was Devin Bl—Szymanski.” I try the name out, and it tastes foreign on my tongue.

“Yes.”

“I’m going crazy.”

“If you say so.”

I scramble off the stool. “I have to go.”

He straightens. “What?”

Stooping down, I gather up my shoulder bag from where I dropped it on the floor. My wallet, phone, and several bags of M&M’s have spilled out, and I shove everything back inside.

When I stand, I find Perry holding the bottle of champagne I bought at the store. It must have slipped out of my bag and rolled away when I fainted. He looks pointedly between me and the booze, a look of understanding spreading across his features before I snatch the bottle from him.

Heat sears my cheeks. “I’m not drunk,” I snap.

“Uh-huh.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I think I do.” He folds his arms across his chest. “You came in here and pretended to flirt with me so you could creep on my younger brother. Admit it.”

My cheeks warm. “I wasn’t flirting with you. And even if I was, do you think I would have fainted?”

“Honestly? I have no idea.” He scrubs a hand through his hair so vigorously it stands on end like he stuck his finger in a socket. “This is weird. You’re weird. And my brother has dealt with too much shit over the past year to handle whatever this”—he motions toward all of me—“is.”

My mouth turns dry and it takes me three tries to successfully swallow.

Drawing himself up, he folds his arms across his chest. “Look, if you don’t want an ambulance and you don’t want me to call anyone for you, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”