2 Chapter 2

But then as Martin left to go into the market, Jude became him in the dream. He was the one walking inside and getting shot, but as Martin.

The psychiatrist told him it was because he wished it had been him instead of Martin killed that day. Jude didn’t know if that was true or not. He just knew the dream was seriously fucked up.

He ran his fingers through his Kelly green curls, probably time to change his hair again, then his hand along his stubbled jaw. Dark smudges appeared under his eyes. He looked seriously jacked

A black cat slinked into the bathroom, rubbing along his bare legs.

“Hey, Sebastian,” he said softly, bending down to scratch behind his ears. “I don’t think I can bloody well go back to sleep now.”

Back in the bedroom he noticed the time on the digital clock said five-thirty. Sighing heavily, he pulled on his discarded jeans from yesterday and a sweatshirt that said Newcastle United

He threw some canned cat food in a dish for Sebastian before opening the door to the outside stairs. His small flat was above his flower shop, St. Jude’s. At the bottom of the stairs he undid the lock on his bike and road down to the beach. He usually didn’t open the shop until nine-thirty.

At the beach Jude sat in the sand, leaning his head against his knees and stared out at Sutter’s Bay. He rubbed his chest, as though that could make the pain of Martin’s death any less. He’d been lucky to find the love of his life. He should be grateful he’d had the eight months he had with Martin. Only he didn’t feel grateful.

Martin hadn’t died immediately. He’d been taken to the hospital. There he’d been declared brain dead and the doctors asked his parentswhat they wanted to do with Martin’s organs. His lover’s parents hadn’t approved of Martin being gay and hadn’t even seen him for years. Yet they were allowed to decide Martin’s fate while Jude hadn’t even been allowed in the hospital room or at the funeral.

Jude stayed to watch the sunrise, but eventually decided he needed to go home, shower, and eat breakfast before he opened the shop.

Being late September, the houses in the neighborhoods surrounding his shop were decorated with jack-o’-lanterns, witches, and scarecrows for Halloween. He’d let a local artist kid paint ghosts and pumpkins on the front window of his flower shop.

Jude relocked his bike to the bottom of the stairs and returned to his apartment for his shower. He guessed he could cook his own breakfast but decided against it. Vic’s Café happened to be right next door.

When he first walked in at just after seven-thirty, the only other customer was old Frank Carter sitting in the corner booth. As far as Jude knew he was here every morning and had been for years, even back when Vic himself had owned the place. Vic died before Jude ever moved to Sutter’s Bay and his son, Adam, owned the cafe.

Jude approached the counter and sat down.

Adam walked over, wiping his hands on his apron. “Morning, Jude. You want coffee?”

“That would be great, thanks.” He picked up the tattered menu.

Adam brought his coffee in a chipped white mug and folded his muscular arms across his chest. The man was pretty good-looking. Well, for someone in his forties anyway. He even had a touch of silver at his temples. He always wore the same thing every time Jude had seen him. Jeans and a tight white T-shirt.

“You look like hell,” Adam commented.

“Yeah. You got some Baileys for this coffee?”

Adam raised a brow. “A little early for that.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. You got some anyway?”

Adam bent beneath the counter and brought out a small bottle. He poured a dollop in Jude’s coffee. “What else can I get you?”

“What’s the special this morning?”

“Short stack, two eggs, choice of bacon or sausage.”

“All right, I’ll have that. Poached with sausage.”

Adam nodded and moved away, off toward the window to the kitchen.

Jude sighed and sipped his doctored coffee while still trying to push the dream…nightmare out of his mind. He hadn’t had the dream in a few months, but he never went too long without thinking of that day.

The bell over the door jangled and Jude glanced in the direction to see who had entered the café. He blinked. The man standing there was a stranger. A fucking incredible one.

The stranger wore a black cowboy hat of all things, but he was tall, really tall, over six feet Jude guessed, and built of solid muscle. The hair he could see that wasn’t covered by the hat appeared to be the color of chestnuts. Blue jeans framed his backside and he wore a charcoal gray button-down shirt. Jude would bet five dollars he wore cowboy boots. In order to know for sure, though, he’d have to lean back on the stool, which would make his perusal pretty damn obvious.