Chapter 7

But I could dream of him. And oh, momma, were my dreams good!

The man came back about six weeks later. Hunter had me filling clear glass vases with multi-colored glass stones and potpourri. Once I was done, I was supposed to place them around the shop, in various nooks and crannies, demonstrating my ability to create something that would pop.

The scent of the citrusy potpourri irritated my nasal passages, and I sneezed, and then sneezed four more times in a row.

“God bless you.” The voice was like a warm brownie with two scoops of vanilla ice cream, drowned in hot fudge sauce—no nuts, though, thanks very much—and topped with a mountain of whipped cream. Without even seeing the voice’s owner, I was in lust.