“View, Pigeon,” he said, mumbling something inaudible before his breathing returned to slow and deep.I couldn’t help but watch him sleep; knowing he was dreaming about me sent a thrill through my veins that I couldn’t explain.”

“I'm thinking I would like to dance in the rain with this person. I would like to lie next to him in the dark and watch him breathe and watch him sleep and wonder what he's dreaming about and not get an inferiority complex if the dreams aren't about me.”

“I’m so sorry, Pigeon. I tried to get to you. I tried….” He cleared his throat of the anger and worry that choked him. “I couldn’t get to you.”

“I couldn’t stop staring. “Sweetheart,” he said, “is my slip showing or something?”

“He tilted his head to the side, still watching me in that same, disconcerting way. “Some things are true, drunk or sober. You should know that. You deal in facts all the time.”“Yeah, but this isn’t—” I couldn’t argue with him looking at me like that. “I have to go. Wait… you didn’t take the cross.” I held it out to him. He shook his head. “Keep it. I think I’ve got something else to help center my life.”

“I can't stop thinking about you," he whispers. He moves in, closer, lips pausing inches from mine. Wraps his arms around me, pulling me into him. I let out a quick gasp of air. "I dream about you," he murmurs, eyes grasping mine."You don't sleep," I choke, feeling a delirious passion coursing through my veins."I dream about your smile. About touching you. I dream about being with you. Like this.”