Page 71 of Austin

I follow her instructions.

“You’re sweating. Are you okay?”

I wipe my brow and then run my fingers through my hair. “I will be.”

“Do you have nightmares often?”

“Yes. More as I’ve gotten older, ironically.”

“My mom used to say, ‘Nightmares are the heart’s way of making you appreciate how beautiful daydreams are.’”

“Your mom sounds like a wise woman,” I say as I follow her rhythm and relax my breathing.

Jalynn smiles. It’s more beautiful than a daydream. “She was amazing,” she says with a nod and a deep sigh. “I used to wake up a lot, and she’d rub my head, just like this, and sing a song.”

“Will you sing for me?”

“Will you tell me what your nightmare was about?” she asks.

I shake my head and swallow. “No.”

“I wasn’t going to sing for you anyway, so now, we’re even.” She shrugs and then curls up to my side. “You okay?” she says groggily.

She nestles into the crook of my arm, running her hand under my shirt to touch my chest, down my stomach, and then up again. It’s comforting.

“I’ve never known a man who sleeps in his undershirt,” she says.

I suspiciously glance at her. “Are you really talking to me right now about other men you’ve slept with?”

She lets out a little laugh. “No. I just thought, since you were sweating, it might be more comfortable to go without it.”

“Well, usually, after a dream like that, I go for a run or a drive or … look at porn.”

“That’s charming.”

I laugh, so she smacks me in the stomach.

Pulling her in close, I kiss the side of her head and inhale her sweet peach scent. “Talk to me then. Tell me about your mom. What was she like other than nightmare-reliever extraordinaire?”

“Sweet”—she wraps her arms around my waist—“kind. Always there when we needed her. She never yelled, and she made the best brownies. Beckett makes them for me sometimes.”

“Beckett bakes?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s a Suzy Homemaker. He has so many great qualities that go unnoticed because he’s such a hothead.”

“That I believe.”

She smacks me in the stomach again. “Says one hothead about the other. You two are a lot alike, you know.”

“I don’t bake.”

“You run,” she says, and I still. “You race to run away from whatever is bothering you. That’s what he does.”

Rolling my head back, I look up to the ceiling. “So, your mom made brownies,” I deflect.

Her nose presses up against my side as she laughs. “She also liked to hike and bird-watch, took us to the movies all the time, and had us involved in everything going on around town. Beckett and I didn’t realize it until after she died that she was keeping us away from our father. He was an alcoholic and abusive.”

I clench my jaw at the thought of anyone hurting Jalynn. “But he never hit you?”