Page 2 of All Your Dreams

“You’re early,” he says over the crying, his eyebrows furrowed above icy blue eyes.

I glance over his shoulder and spot Tilly in a bassinet less than ten feet from us, her face all red. “Umm—I was supposed to be here at seven, right?”

“Fuck.” Ollie sighs, covering his face with his palm. “I thought I said eight. I’m so sorry.”

I barely get out a “that’s okay” before the towel drops and pools at his feet. Suddenly, he’s standing in front of me completely naked, water drops still clinging to his tattooed body. My brain immediately screams don’t look down. So, naturally, my gaze betrays me for the briefest moment before shooting right back up to his face. Mistake. Huge mistake. Because now my entire body is warming up and my mind has gathered entirely too much information in the last three seconds.

We stand there frozen in horrified silence until Ollie mutters under his breath and spins around before bolting buck naked into a room on the right. I press a hand to my mouth to stifle a laugh, but the sound escapes anyway. More heat rushes to my face as my memory unhelpfully replays the image of him in high definition.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. Nope. Still there. Another quiet giggle slips out and I shake my head, trying to pull myself together. I’m here for a job. I need this job for my mental health. I definitely shouldn’t be standing here thinking about how attractive my very naked employer was.

But the guilt I’m expecting? Not there. Just a faint, lingering buzz under my skin.

“This is going to be interesting,” I murmur, glancing toward the hallway he disappeared down.

Tilly’s cry cuts through my thoughts, urging me to move. I step fully inside, closing the door behind me, fighting the amusement that refuses to disappear. In another room, a drawer slams, followed by a muffled curse that only makes my smile widen. This job is definitely not going to be boring.

1

OLLIE

FOUR DAYS BEFORE PEYTON ARRIVES IN NEW YORK

Fridays are mine. There are no customers or deadlines. No one is asking me to “take a quick look” at a problem that’ll turn into a six-hour job. It’s the one day of the week the world loosens its grip on me, and I can just be. So here I am, sitting on the couch, large cup of coffee in hand, flipping through a magazine as the low hum of the city drifts through the open windows of my apartment above the shop.

A few years ago, I didn’t have any of this. I was the guy in Omaha who fixed things, because I didn’t know what else to do with my hands and time. Growing up, I tried to find my passion the way everyone else seemed to, but nothing ever stuck. Even if I loved playing guitar, I knew being a musician wouldn’t interest me as a career. Same with pottery and the other hobbies I have tried over the years.

Turns out, I didn’t need a major calling in life or extraordinary purpose. Just a trade I was good at and liked enough to do every day. Give me a busted car and a paint gun, and I’ll make the ride look like it rolled straight out of a dream. That’s how Braxton Body Shop came to be. One accidental skill turned into a successful business with six employees and a reality I don’t mind waking up to.

Not bad for a former foster kid who never had a clear plan. Other than getting the hell away from the system and ensuring my two younger siblings did the same. My brother Chase made it out fine, finding his place studying aerospace engineering. Our sister Livia is another story. I tell myself I did everything I could, but the thought never quite sticks. Still, I’m trying to fix what I can. But it hasn’t been easy. Unfortunately I can’t sand down or paint over problems in life like I can with a car.

I take a slow sip of coffee, wondering what to do today. I could go to my hobby room down the hall to do pottery, but honestly, after staying up until the early morning with my date last night, I feel like relaxing today. Maybe that’s the real luxury; not the shop or the partying, but the ability to pause without feeling like everything will fall apart if I do.

Which is probably why the heavy pounding on my front door feels so wrong. The persistent sound cuts through the quiet like a wrench thrown into an engine. I frown, setting the mug down as the banging continues. I grab an old black Nirvana T-shirt and my jeans off the floor, putting them on so I won’t meet whoever is at the door in only my boxers.

“Um, boss, you home?” My newest hire, Giovanni, calls from the hallway, his voice carrying a hesitant, apologetic edge.

I rake a hand through my hair, unlock the deadbolt and crack the door open. He shifts nervously from one foot to the other, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.

“What are you doing here on my day off, Gio?” I ask gruffly. “Everyone knows Fridays are my days off. No shop talk today.”

The kid lingers, his shorter frame hunched, dark curls falling in front of his eyes. His overalls look like they’ve been slept in, and there’s a faint smear of grease along his jawline.

He lets out a loud sigh. “I know, but⁠—”

“But what?”

His gaze flickers up to mine before dropping again. “Someone left a baby in the women’s bathroom with a note addressed to you,” Gio mutters, his eyes focused on his feet. Wait, I must be still dreaming. He didn’t just say that.

“Come again?” I ask calmly, even if my insides are roiling.

“A freaking baby was left in the bathroom and there’s a note with your name on it.”

His words tumble out faster this time, tripping over each other. I stare at him and wait for the punchline that never comes. I can’t believe this is happening.

Running fingers through my unruly hair once again, I take a moment to gather the thoughts filling my head. “Give me a sec. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“Boone called the police, and Heather is with the baby,” he offers.