Sweet Dreams (Sunset Dreams Series Book 1) Read online

  Sweet Dreams

  A Sunset Dreams Novel

  Jennifer Senhaji

  Published by Jennifer Senhaji

  Copyright 2014 Jennifer Senhaji

  Editing and Layout by Patricia D. Eddy

  Cover Design by Mayhem Cover Creations

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Author does not own any rights to music mentioned in this book.

  Also by Jennifer Senhaji

  Sunset Dreams Series

  Sweet Dreams

  Choosing to Dream coming in 2015

  Disguising Love Series

  Angels in Disguise (originally published as part of the Unwrapping Love Holiday Anthology)

  Contents

  Dedication-7

  Prologue-8

  Chapter One-9

  Chapter Two-14

  Chapter Three-19

  Chapter Four-24

  Chapter Five-30

  Chapter Six-34

  Chapter Seven-42

  Chapter Eight-46

  Chapter Nine-51

  Chapter Ten-53

  Chapter Eleven-56

  Chapter Twelve-58

  Chapter Thirteen-62

  Chapter Fourteen-67

  Chapter Fifteen-70

  Chapter Sixteen-72

  Chapter Seventeen-74

  Chapter Eighteen-77

  Chapter Nineteen-98

  Chapter Twenty-103

  Chapter Twenty-One-106

  Chapter Twenty-Two-110

  Chapter Twenty-Three-114

  Chapter Twenty-Four-120

  Chapter Twenty-Five-133

  Chapter Twenty-Six-151

  Chapter Twenty-Seven-156

  Chapter Twenty-Eight-158

  Chapter Twenty-Nine-169

  Chapter Thirty-177

  Chapter Thirty-One-185

  Chapter Thirty-Two-187

  Chapter Thirty-Three-191

  Chapter Thirty-Four-198

  Chapter Thirty-Five-200

  Chapter Thirty-Six-203

  Chapter Thirty-Seven-206

  Chapter Thirty-Eight-209

  Chapter Thirty-Nine-224

  Extras -227

  Choosing to Dream-234

  Music in Sweet Dreams-238

  Gratitude-239

  About the Author-240

  Dedication

  For my Lovey Dovey

  Prologue

  The water is like ice, stunning me as I go under. I can hear his voice calling my name from the surface, but when I open my mouth to answer, it fills with water, choking me. My lungs burn, searching for oxygen, and disoriented, my body forgets that I know how to swim. My limbs won’t work and time slows down.

  Please help me!

  I’m drowning.

  I’ve been down here forever.

  I’m going to die.

  I’m going to die all because of that ridiculously ginormous spider and my inability to keep two feet on the floor. I’m drowning and I’ll never get a chance to tell him, to feel his lips on mine. Why didn’t I kiss him when I had the chance? I want to be back up there with him, not drowning in this freezing cold water, halfway around the world. Why didn’t I make a move? Why didn’t he?

  Help!

  How did I get myself into this mess?

  Green, so green…

  Chapter One

  When you cease to dream you cease to live. Malcom Forbes

  January

  With my ear buds firmly in place and Shakira and Alejandro Sanz flirtatiously belting out “La Tortura” on my iPod, I step into the elevator and press the button for the ground floor, on my way back to the café for the afternoon.

  I worked the opening shift as usual at my café, Sweet Dreams. After the morning rush, I left my favorite barista, Laney, in charge so I could go to a meeting with my attorney. The meeting was a good one and I leave his office relieved after worrying about it all week.

  Alone in the elevator, I sing along with the music and shake my hips to the beat.

  I love this song.

  The elevator doors open on the second floor to let someone on and I still, glancing up at the passenger entering.

  What the…

  I do a double take at the man who steps in.

  Holy guacamole!

  He presses the button marked G as I ogle him in his leather jacket, baseball hat, and sunglasses. He moves to stand in the far corner, as if he’s trying to blend into the panels on the elevator wall. Turning his head toward me, he catches me staring, and I quickly turn and face forward again.

  It’s Jacob Walker, A-list actor.

  I would recognize his broad shoulders, black hair, and beautifully chiseled jawline anywhere.

  Too bad I can’t see his eyes.

  Smiling to myself, I tap my foot along with the music and continue to face forward. When we reach the ground floor, I exit the elevator first with a spring in my step. Taking one ear bud out I call, “Have a beautiful day,” over my shoulder. With a blank expression on his face, he looks back at me and doesn’t respond, so I continue walking outside.

  And that was my big encounter with Jacob Walker.

  I practically skip all the way to the café. He’s tall, just as handsome in person as he is on the big screen, and boy does he smell good. I giggle to myself and let out a sigh.

  It’s a beautiful winter’s day in Maple Grove. I’ve been here three years now and I never get tired of the trees. Taking in a big breath of fresh air, the scent of pine and a wood burning fireplace invigorates me. I found this town on a drive one day four years ago, and when I decided I wanted to leave the city, I knew this was the place for me. A quiet, small town, three hours north of San Francisco. Still close to my family, but a lot slower paced than living in the city. I grew up in San Francisco; it would always be my home, but I didn’t want to live there anymore.

  I love Maple Grove. Most people in town know each other and watch out for one another. The downtown area is only four blocks long and my café, Sweet Dreams, which I opened two years ago, has become the popular stop for coffee. We serve really good coffee and I have a baker who comes in every morning and makes fresh pastries for the day. There are places for people to sit and read and a little book section that I stock myself. There’s even a space in the back that I think would be a great outside patio area, if I ever get around to setting it up. Laney is my full time barista and right hand. I have two other employees, students that work part time picking up hours here and there around their school schedules. The business is doing really well and it’s the most important thing in my life.

  I have to say it’s pretty amazing owning my own successful business at twenty nine, thank you very much.

  It’s a lot of work, but very rewarding.

  Walking into the café with a huge smile on my face, Laney takes notice and says, “What is that big smile for?”

  Contemplating for a moment whether or not I should tell her about sharing an elevator with Jacob Walker, I decide to keep the experience for myself.

  Smiling, I reply, “Nothing, just in a really good moo
d today. My meeting went well.”

  “Congratulations!” Laney turns on the British accent we sometimes use when speaking with each other and continues. “So what is on the agenda for the rest of the day?”

  Responding in the same accent as per our weird little custom, I offer, “How about a little dancing music?”

  “Brilliant!”

  My only explanation for the accents; we both grew up watching way too much BBC.

  Turning the stereo system up, I plug in my iPod and start my “Latin Mix” playlist. “La Camisa Negra” by Juanes starts to play and I can’t help doing a little cumbia step to the music while I check the shelves to see what needs to be restocked.

  For the rest of the afternoon, Laney and I dance behind the counter to salsa and merengue while we help customers and laugh at each other. I challenge a few of my regular customers to show me their best moves in exchange for a free coffee. They all deliver with great enthusiasm and leave with a complimentary beverage and a smile on their faces. When Mario, the owner of the auto body shop down the street, comes in, he pulls me out from behind the counter and we salsa right in the middle of the café. The customers clap as he twirls me around and dips me at the end of the song.

  He must be close to sixty and he’s still a great dancer.

  After our dance, I give him a kiss on the cheek and a complimentary chocolate chip cookie, sending him happily back to his shop.

  My friend Jerry stops in, and when Laney sees him she blushes and bolts for the kitchen.

  I never noticed before, but I think she must have a little crush on him.

  He doesn’t dance, but stays for a while to chat.

  “What’s up, Jer?”

  “Nothing, just came to see what you were up to.”

  “Oh you know, work, salsa, merengue, the usual,” I say smiling.

  “I see that. No, don’t look at me like that Jen, you know I don’t dance.”

  “Jer, how is it possible you don’t dance? You’re a musician.”

  Jerry shrugs. I shake my head and wipe down the counter while Jerry nibbles on a cookie.

  After work, I go home and slip Secret Protocol, one of Jacob Walker’s movies that I have on DVD, into the machine to watch, so I can compare my encounter with what I see on film. I catch myself leaning in really close to the screen during a scene in the movie where he has his shirt off.

  Man, he has a beautiful body.

  No wonder he was People Magazine’s “Sexiest Man Alive” last year.

  Jenna, stop drooling!

  He’s just as gorgeous in person as he is on screen.

  I can’t believe we shared an elevator today.

  I finish the movie and lie in bed wondering what he’s like and why he was in that elevator, eventually drifting off to sleep.

  That night, I have a weird dream. I’m in a dark cave that sparkles with the most beautiful emeralds while little people all around me dance the merengue to “Suavemente” by Elvis Crespo. I wake up confused.

  Maybe I’m supposed to be Snow White?

  Who knows, my dreams are so weird.

  Chapter Two

  I have measured out my life with coffee spoons. T.S. Eliot

  February

  A month after my star sighting, I’m at the café, busy as usual, somewhere around 9 a.m. I attend to my customers as I have for two years now, providing them with their daily dose of caffeine and freshly baked pastries.

  It’s busy today. Laney has made so many lattes and cappuccinos I’m afraid we may run out of milk before our delivery comes at eleven. The croissants are all gone and all that’s left in the pastry case are muffins and cookies.

  Maybe I need to tell the baker to make more croissants on the weekdays.

  After a small lull, I tell Laney to take a break. Making herself a soy latte, she walks to the back of the café and sits down to read the morning paper. It should be quiet now for a while until 10 a.m. when the midmorning rush starts. Taking stock of the remaining pastries, I start to rearrange them in the pastry case as a tall man in a black leather jacket wearing a baseball hat and sunglasses walks in and straight up to the counter. Without looking up from his wallet, he orders a large coffee and a blueberry muffin to go. His voice is deep and masculine and very sexy.

  I try to calculate the craziness of seeing Jacob Walker again, in my own café no less, and realizing I’m standing here like some infatuated fangirl, I shake my head to snap out of it.

  Focus, Jenna.

  Filling a paper cup with coffee and putting a muffin in a bag, I advise, “That will be $3.50, please.”

  He looks up at me, pauses for a moment, and then hands me a $5 bill. Without waiting for his change, he grabs his coffee and the bag on the counter and turns to leave.

  “Thank you, have a beautiful day today,” I call after him.

  He turns back toward me slightly, giving me a half smile. Raising his cup, almost as if saying cheers, he turns and walks out the front door.

  I’m dumbfounded.

  What are the odds?

  Is he in town for some reason?

  I have no idea what Jacob Walker would be doing in that elevator with me last month or in my café today in Maple Grove.

  I work the rest of the day stuck in a daze, wondering if maybe he has family here.

  The next morning, he walks into the café, straight up to the counter. He takes off his sunglasses. My breath hitches for a second as I take in the most piercing green eyes I have ever seen.

  What color is that?

  Moss green? No, lighter.

  Wow, they really sparkle.

  Eventually, I greet him. “Good morning, what can I get you today?”

  “Large coffee and blueberry muffin, please?”

  I put together the coffee and muffin and he hands me a $5 bill. “Thank you, have a great day today.”

  He tilts his head at me, a puzzled expression on his face. Putting his glasses back on, he grabs the coffee and muffin, mumbles, “You too,” and leaves.

  He is so beautiful.

  I can’t help daydreaming about his gorgeous eyes the rest of the day.

  Forest green? No, lighter.

  I wonder if he’ll be back again next week.

  Sea green? No, there’s no blue in them.

  The weekend is a blur as I rack my brain for an adequate description of his eye color.

  It’s early Monday morning and I’m getting the café set up to open.

  Mondays. I hate Mondays.

  Coffee is brewing and I have gathered the trays of pastries from the kitchen that the baker left for today. The croissants are still warm and I can smell the buttery goodness that always makes my stomach growl as I slide the trays onto the racks in the pastry case.

  The stereo system is on loud, as always before I open on Monday mornings, and “Harlem” by New Politics blares through the speakers. Singing along with an occasional booty shake, I stack the cups and fill up the sugar and stirrers with my back to the door. We open in fifteen minutes and I’m in a rush, but still getting my groove on, thank you very much.

  As I belt out the chorus, I turn around to place the container of stirrers on the counter next to the sugar and I almost have a heart attack.

  “Ahhhhhhhh!” I scream out at the top of my lungs.

  Oh my God, oh my God!

  My heart pounds.

  I think I just lost five pounds.

  Jacob Walker stands at the counter, three feet away from me, glasses off, with a smirk on his face. He jumps slightly as I scream. Realizing who it is, wondering how the hell he got in, and seeing him start to chuckle, I hold my hand to my chest, feel the adrenaline pump through my veins and say, “You scared the bejesus out of me!”

  “What?” He holds his hand to his ear and scrunches up his eyes. I realize the music is way too loud for him to hear me, which is probably why I didn’t hear him come in.

  Turning around, I turn down the volume on the stereo system and then face him again. “I said, you sc
ared the bejesus out of me!”

  “Oh, sorry, the music was so loud I didn’t know how to get your attention. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says with a sheepish expression on his face.

  My chest heaves as I respond. “It’s okay, we don’t open for another fifteen minutes though. How did you get in?”

  “The door was unlocked, I just walked in,” he says like a perfectly logical explanation.

  “Well coffee is almost ready, what can I get you?”

  Deep breath in, deep breath out.

  He tilts his head, studies me for a moment and says matter-of-factly, “You know, you shouldn’t leave the door unlocked like that, it’s not safe.”

  Smiling, I motion to him and respond sarcastically, “Oh, why? Because some weirdo may come in and scare the stuffing out of me?” He raises his eyebrows at my response. “It’s all right, I must have left it open when I came in.”

  “Well you should be more careful!” I feel like my dad is scolding me somehow.

  This is weird.

  “We are pretty safe here,” I say, dismissing the comment. Pouring coffee into a paper cup, I place it on the counter. “Would you like to try one of our croissants? They’re warm just out of the oven.”

  “I’m usually a muffin kind of guy, but sure. That sounds great.” He smiles back at me and I get all warm inside.

  Good gravy, he’s handsome.

  I grab a warm butter croissant off the baker’s tray and place it in a bag. He puts a $5 bill on the counter and looks up at me.

  “Well, have a beautiful day today,” I say.

  He takes a sip of coffee, groans, and says, “You too,” and he’s gone again.

  I don’t see him for the rest of the week and think he must have finally left town.

  Laughing at myself on Friday while I daydream about Jacob Walker, I remember him startling me on Monday morning.

  How embarrassing.

  Chapter Three

  The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. Franklin D. Roosevelt

  The following Tuesday morning, I’m setting up before opening, and as I pass by the door, I see a dark figure hunched over against the glass. It’s still dark out so I can’t see who it is, but I start to freak out. I’m glad I did, in fact, lock the door behind me. He’s still there a few minutes later and as my pulse starts to accelerate I decide to turn on the sign in the hopes that maybe the light will scare off this creeper. In San Francisco I was used to this, always looking over one shoulder, always aware of my surroundings. You have to be in a big city. Here it’s much more relaxed, much safer.