Desert Gold

A sweet, slow trumpet was easing its way through a brassy little song about a citrus fruit. The wine in my glass was cool and mellow. Trace and I slow-danced in perfect synchronization around the edge of the aquamarine pool, with only the light of the neon moon out by the street for illumination. As the song trailed off into silence, I felt myself being pulled into strong arms, and I tilted my face to meet his lips.

Instead of the spine-tingling kiss I was expecting, my senses were assaulted by kibble-scented dog breath. Dog hair tickled my nose, and I sneezed explosively.

“Darn you, Holden!” I grumbled, pushing my little black and white dog off my chest and onto the bed, “How many times have I told you, no doggy kisses before breakfast?”

Holden didn’t answer me. Instead, he hopped off the bed, and I heard the click of his nails as he wandered out into the hallway.

I turned on my side and snuggled my face back down into my pillow, hoping to slip back into sleep and, with any luck, back into that lovely dream. As images from the dream flashed in front of my closed eyelids, I tried to recapture the warmth and sweetness of being in Trace’s arms.

Trace’s arms? My eyes flew open, and I swore both loudly and creatively. What on earth was I doing, dreaming about Trace Bloome, while Will Benton’s shirts still hung in my bedroom closet?