“Sit your pretty little ass in that chair and wait for me to bring over your breakfast.”
“Mm,” I murmur, pulling out the chair he nodded at and taking a seat. “Okay. Are we married?”
“Do you want to be married?”
I look at my left hand, but there’s no ring. “We’re not married.”
“Or you took your ring off,” he suggests. “We could be married.”
I frown at him, but then he brings over a plate of food. I don’t normally smell things in dreams, but this smells great. He places the food down in front of me, then goes to the refrigerator, grabs me a bottle of water, and grabs a mug off the counter.
“Oh, I don’t like coffee,” I remind him. Normally I need it to get me going for work, but I have a feeling if Dream Nikki lives with Derek and has a kid, she probably doesn’t have the time for my workload. Consequently, no nasty coffee will be consumed by Dream Nikki.
He places the mug down, and it isn’t coffee. I’m not sure what it is, so I pick it up and take a sip.
Mm, warm apple cider.
He goes to the counter again, and this time he comes back holding a giant bottle of aspirin. “Open your hand.”
I do, and he dispenses a big-ass pill. “You’re an angel,” I tell him, before popping it into my mouth. I uncap the bottle of water, tip it back and take a drink to swallow the pill.
Then, like we do this every morning, Derek takes a seat across from me at the table, shoots me a little smirk, and starts eating his food.
“What should we do today?” he asks.
Since I have no idea how to answer that, I pick up my fork slowly and ask, “What do we normally do on weekends?”
He cocks an eyebrow at me as he reaches for his drink. “You don’t remember? All sorts of happy family shit. Trips to toy
stores, bookstores, museums, parks. Remember the time we took Cassie for that cookout at the park and you guys blew bubbles?”
I remember a scene from book three of my trilogy where not-Nikki and not-Derek took their daughter to a cookout at a park and the girls blew bubbles. Cocking my head curiously, I ask, “Was she wearing cute little checkered shorts?”
“Yep,” he says easily, grabbing a slice of toast and dipping it in his egg.
I think I’m starting to catch on. This dream is so vivid because it’s like the ones that forced me to write that damned book. This is an unwritten book four. There’s no more story to tell, so I don’t know why this is happening, but hell, I won’t complain about living my fantasy life until I wake up.
“Is Kayla dead? Please tell me Kayla’s dead.”
As if genuinely confused, he asks, “Who’s Kayla?”
I pump my fist. “Yes.”
Derek chokes, then covers his mouth to smother his…amusement?
I narrow my eyes. Why does that amuse him? If Kayla doesn’t exist in this dream, that shouldn’t be funny.
“Went down the wrong pipe,” he tells me, taking a drink of his coffee.
“I woke up naked. Did we have sex last night?” I ask.
“Nope. But we can have sex after breakfast, if you want to. We could both use a shower. I’d be down for some mid-morning shower sex.”
“Where is my phone?” I ask, my suspicion growing. Something is off, but the little girl in the living room called me Mom. She called me Mom. If Derek is fucking with me, surely he wouldn’t bring his daughter into it.
Also, that would make the cute little dark-haired girl Kayla’s daughter, not mine. That is not a reality I want any part of.
I stare hard at Derek as he eats his breakfast.