Mine Tomorrow Page 2

  Gregory Prescott.

  It whispered through her mind as if someone had spoken it aloud and left her feeling as unsettled as she had after the blinding light and loud blast. She’d never known his name before. Why did she know it now when she had dreamed of him so many other times in the past?

  She must have heard it somewhere. The letter at the estate sale. It had been signed by a man named Gregory. Maybe she had even seen his face years ago, although she couldn’t recall ever bumping into him. But wasn’t that usually how people showed up in dreams, whisked to a person’s subconscious after a chance meeting in real life?

  Although she was far from satisfied with the explanation, Devin stopped caring the instant their gazes met. Awareness, interest, physical need—as always, she experienced all three in the split second it took for a grin to steal over his handsome face.

  She smiled in return and raised her hand slightly. It took only that and he broke into a run, shouldering his way through the dense crowd.

  Her heart sank. Tears stung her eyes and made her throat ache. He wouldn’t reach her. He never did. Any moment now she would find herself back in her apartment, opening her eyes to surroundings as familiar as the disappointment she always felt upon waking.

  “Devin!”

  When he called her name, however, she began to push through the revelers. As futile as it might be, she needed to try. The distance between them grew narrower and narrower. She was closer to him than she had ever been before. So close that she could see the crinkles that fanned from the corners of his eyes and make out the shadow of beard stubble on his jaw.

  Driven, feeling desperate, she reached out again, knowing that any second he would be lost to her, every trace of him gone until their next slumberous meeting. But instead of waking up in the usual tangle of sheets, she felt their fingers touch, after which their hands clasped.

  Devin cried out in surprise. The contact was not only unexpected, but seemed almost electrically charged. His eyes widened as if he felt it, too, and then his grip tightened.

  “Don’t let go!” she cried. “Please!”

  “Never.”

  When he drew her toward him, the pulling sensation she experienced was more than physical. It was as if she were being pulled through time itself. Her knees buckled, but a pair of strong arms saved her from collapsing and she found herself staring up into a face that was every bit as familiar as her own.

  At last.

  She didn’t say the words aloud, but they reverberated through her bones. She touched his cheek tentatively before resting her palm flat against his warm skin. He felt so real. So…right.

  Her response seemed to please him. He closed his eyes briefly and nodded before saying, “I didn’t think I would ever reach you.”

  Vaguely, she wondered if he was speaking of this time or in the other dreams. Before she could give it too much thought, he leaned down and his mouth captured hers in a kiss that was unhurried and desperate at the same time. Nothing else mattered at that point—not how she knew him or why the dream hadn’t ended the way it usually did. Only the man holding Devin in his arms was important, and she had to admit, for a figment of her imagination, he kissed better than any man she’d ever dated.

  Just as surely as she knew his name, however, she knew that she and Gregory weren’t dating.

  No. They were married.

  Chapter Three

  Gregory pulled back slowly. He smiled again as he stared into the face of the woman he loved. The woman he’d worried he might never see again. She looked as dazed and relieved as he felt.

  “It’s been a long time,” he told her. “I wasn’t sure…I wasn’t sure you would be here.”

  “Where else would I be?” she asked.

  Her confusion seemed genuine. Maybe she wanted to forget the tension that had existed between them before he’d shipped out. Gregory knew he did. It had weighed heavily on him during his entire deployment, intensifying after her letters had stopped. He pulled her into his arms again, rested his cheek against her temple.

  “Nowhere,” he mumbled into her hair. “This is where you belong, Devin. Right here. Forever.”

  Afterward, Gregory took her hands. His thumb rubbed against something hard on her third finger. He lifted her hand and studied the cheap, silver-plated band he’d placed there not all that long ago. Her eyes widened fractionally.

  “I know it’s nothing special,” he said on a self-conscious chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’ll make good on my promise.”

  She glanced up. “Your promise?”

  “To buy you a nicer one. I said I would as soon as I got back. There wasn’t enough time before I shipped out. Everything between us happened so fast.”

  Devin nodded as she fingered the ring. Her expression bordered on reverence.

  “Do you…do you believe in love at first sight?” she asked so softly that he had to bend closer to hear.

  “I didn’t,” he admitted, “until I saw you.”

  “I know. I—”

  Devin’s words were cut short when a sailor bumped into her. He apologized, and then both he and his companion stopped to salute Gregory, who saluted them back.

  “It’s a great day, sir!” the first sailor said.

  “A great day,” Gregory agreed. His gaze was on Devin. She was here. She’d come back to him.

  “Better hold tight to your girl, Captain,” the other said. “There’s a guy back there kissing every woman he sees.”

  Gregory glanced about. Times Square was jammed with people now.

  “Thanks for the warning, but I can assure you, no one is going to kiss my wife but me.”

  The sailors were forgotten when Gregory leaned forward again. This time, the kiss he and Devin shared wasn’t nearly as urgent. He took his time, and she appeared only too happy to let him.

  When he finished, he nuzzled her neck, inhaling deeply to take in her perfume.

  “You feel so good in my arms.”

  * * *

  Devin felt good there, if overly warm. The overcoat she was wearing didn’t help. Suddenly, she became aware of how hot it was outside. She had been dressed for a crisp autumn day, but in her dream it was the height of summer, and New York was steeped in heat.

  “I need to take this off before I suffer a heat stroke.”

  He frowned, apparently just noticing her cold-weather attire. “Why on earth are you wearing this?”

  “I was trying it on,” she replied honestly. “That was before…before all of the commotion. I haven’t had a chance to take it off.”

  She stepped back to do so now, but as soon as she attempted to unfasten the buttons, Gregory brushed her hands aside.

  On a grin, he said, “Allow me, Mrs. Prescott.”

  Mrs. Prescott. The prefix, the moniker, both should have sounded foreign, but they didn’t.

  Devin’s mouth went dry as he took over the task. It was ridiculous to feel self-conscious. This was a dream, one in which he was her husband. What’s more, they were standing in a square crowded with people, and he was only helping her take off her overcoat. Still, she did feel self-conscious and almost painfully aware of Gregory as she lowered her gaze and watched him fish first one button and then the next through the holes on the placket until he was finished.

  When he slipped the coat from her shoulders, it came as a jolt to realize that she was no longer wearing the wool pants and cream turtleneck she’d had on at the shop—or rather the portion of the dream that had occurred at the shop. Instead, she was garbed in a belted, pale blue dress. The skirt was slim and ended just below her knees. On her feet, a pair of low pumps with a rounded toe had replaced the no-nonsense flats she usually favored.

  The dress she remembered from the estate sale. She’d found it in the back of the bedroom closet tucked inside a garment bag. Its condition had been like new. The only hint that it had ever been worn was a tag from the cleaners that was clipped to the inside of its collar. The woman present at the sale had told Devin the dress
had belonged to the late owner’s wife, as had all of the other women’s garments, accessories and jewelry Devin purchased. A wife who had been named Devin and who, for whatever reason, had left him.

  While Devin didn’t recall the shoes, she must have seen them at the sale, as well. Like the other period details, she’d plucked them from her subconscious.

  Gregory took the coat and draped it over his arm. His gaze swept down, lingered in appreciation. “You wore the dress.”

  She wasn’t sure how to reply, so she said, “It’s so pretty.”

  Which was true enough. Something this gorgeous and well made wouldn’t last a day in her shop before a customer snatched it up. Would she sell it? After this dream, that seemed highly doubtful.

  “God, you’re beautiful. Even more beautiful than I remembered.”

  The remark, said with such vehemence, left her flattered if a bit envious. He had memories of her, where as the only memories Devin had of him were from her dreams. Dreams such as this one. Except…

  Suddenly, images of the two of them together, smiling and laughing, drifted into focus in her mind. She’d been wearing this very dress, holding a small bouquet of flowers. He’d been clad in uniform again, a white rosebud pinned to his lapel. Just as she’d known his name earlier, now she was certain this foggy memory—if that was what it could be called—was of their wedding day.

  “The courthouse,” she murmured. A judge had performed the simple civil ceremony.

  I now pronounce you man and wife…

  “Devin? Are you all right?”

  She rubbed her temple. “This is crazy.”

  “The world does seem to have gone mad,” he agreed on a shaky laugh as he glanced around the square.

  “Have we?”

  If Gregory found her question strange, he answered it nonetheless. “Maybe. Do you care?”

  “Right now? No.”

  He smiled. “Neither do I.”

  “It’s a dream,” she reminded herself again. A very detailed one from which she was in no hurry to wake.

  “The best one I’ve ever had, because you’re here.”

  Come back to me.

  The words from the letter echoed in her head, joining the ones he spoke now. After her last breakup, she’d given up hope of ever meeting a man such as this. Never had she felt this way—as if she were the center of someone’s universe.

  More shouting erupted. Whoops of joy ensued.

  “What on earth is going on?” she asked.

  “You don’t know?”

  “I haven’t a clue,” she replied honestly. “I was at the shop when…all of this started.”

  “The war. It’s officially over.”

  Devin turned in a circle, taking in the scene. No wonder everything had seemed so familiar. She’d seen it before, or rather witnessed it secondhand via black-and-white photographs that had been published in books and magazines.

  V-J Day.

  Times Square was the spot where the iconic shot of a sailor kissing a nurse was taken after the victory over Japan was announced. Sure enough, she spied the young man several yards away in the square with the pretty nurse bent backward over his arm.

  Devin was reliving history.

  Chapter Four

  Reliving it?

  No. She was dreaming about it.

  Devin chided herself for thinking, even momentarily, that the scene was real. If her being here was real, then everything was real. And that included Gregory Prescott. As much as she might wish to find herself married to a man such as this one, to her profound regret, she knew that was impossible. It was 1945 in her dream, but when she woke up, it would be 2014, and the only things that would remain tangible would be the period clothing that seemed to have started all of this nonsense.

  Regardless, that left her with a bit of a dilemma: Now what was she supposed to do? Since her dream had never reached this point, Devin wasn’t sure what would happen next.

  “Are you ready to go?”

  “No!” She didn’t want to leave him.

  Of course, that wasn’t what Gregory meant. His brows tugged together. “You want to stay…here…in Times Square?”

  Devin had no desire to remain among the jostling crowd, so she shook her head and asked, “Where do you want to go?”

  Her heart skipped a couple of beats when Gregory replied, “Home.”

  It was the word she used in reference to her tiny apartment, although it had never felt quite as fitting a description as it did when he said it now. The word evoked memories not of her childhood abode, nor even of a physical place, but of a sense of belonging that she craved, although she had no idea how deeply until just then.

  His intense gaze told her exactly what he had in mind once they reached their destination. Desire. Hunger. Need. The kind of possession that gave as much as it took. And why not? He was a sailor recently returned from sea, a husband returning to his wife after a long absence. Meanwhile, she was a woman who hadn’t had sex in a year. Even then, it had been unexceptional to the point of being disappointing.

  It always was.

  Never had Devin experienced the fireworks that her friends talked about, which had caused her to wonder if maybe something was wrong with her. One look at Gregory, however, and such concerns evaporated. If the way he kissed was any indication, she figured she was in store for a fireworks display worthy of the Fourth of July.

  But as eager as she was to be alone with him, she had worried over her younger sister’s welfare for so long that it was second nature to do so now.

  “I should call the shop and let Emily know…” Devin began before she remembered there was no need to touch base with her sibling in a dream.

  “Emily?” he asked.

  “She’s my…my sister.”

  “I didn’t realize…” He rubbed a hand along his jaw. “That is to say, she and I never had the chance to meet. It was such a rushed affair.”

  “Our…our wedding?”

  “Our wedding, our courtship, our engagement…everything. Were you staying with her? Is that where you’ve been these past few months?”

  The note found at the sale came to mind. Come back to me.

  Before she could answer, Gregory shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, Devin. Nothing else matters except that you’re here now.”

  Perhaps nothing else mattered, but she couldn’t quash the feeling that something was off.

  He was saying, “What is this shop that you say you should call?”

  A shop that would not exist in 1945, so it made no sense to mention Yesterday’s Closet to him.

  “A clothing store I know.”

  “And your sister works there, I take it.” He took her hand and they started to walk.

  “Yes, a few mornings a week.” Since it was so easy to talk about Emily, she added proudly, “She attends college full time on a scholarship.”

  “Impressive. Did you work while I was away?”

  “I have a job,” Devin replied, not sure what verb tense was called for in a dream that was taking place more than half a century in the past.

  “You never mentioned it in your letters, but then there hadn’t been any since, well, I was reassigned to another ship.”

  She glanced over sharply. It wasn’t accusation she saw in his expression, but sadness, contrition even, when he added, “I tried to get a letter out right away, to reassure you I was fine after the attack, but mail was spotty at that point.”

  What attack? More important than satisfying her curiosity, however, was the need to soothe his conscience. “It’s forgotten.”

  “The past is the past?” His smile was hopeful.

  “Yes.” Well, sort of. She fought the urge to rub her temple. The past was the present for her, at least in this dream.

  “You can ring your sister when we get home, if you’d like. The phone in our apartment is out of order, but there is one in the lobby. I’m sure Dan will let you use it.”

  She nodded and they continued on their w
ay.

  Devin wasn’t paying close attention to where they were heading. She was too busy enjoying the sensation of their clasped hands and the passing scenery. Although it was seventy years ago, New York was in many ways the same. Time hadn’t changed the landmarks, a lot of which predated even the turn of the twentieth century. But the automobiles streaming past on Broadway were all what Devin thought of as vintage models—hulking sedans with curved fenders, inflated hoods and rounded headlights.

  Devin’s obsession with the time period helped her recognize some of the vehicles, but mostly it was the pedestrians bustling along the sidewalks who caught her notice. Never had she seen so much 1940s fashion in one place.

  Once they were well away from the crowded square, Gregory stepped off the curb and hailed a cab. The inside of the vehicle smelled of smoke and pastrami, probably because the driver was eating a sandwich while the stump of a cigar burned in the ashtray.

  “Where to?” the man asked.

  Gregory rattled off an address that sounded vaguely familiar. It wasn’t until they reached the brownstone, though, that Devin realized where they were—it was the building where she had attended the estate sale mere days ago. A detail plucked from her subconscious, she reminded herself even as her skin prickled.

  The lobby bore the same black and white marble floor. Likewise, the light fixture, a no-frills pendant that predated even this time period, was the same. The paint color, however, was different, a neutral shade of off-white rather than the mossy green it had been on her prior visit, and the slipper chairs in the tiny alcove beyond the door had a decidedly art deco vibe.

  “Mrs. Prescott!” the doorman cried in surprise. “You’re back!” He sobered then and his face flushed crimson. “What I mean to say is ‘welcome home.’ Welcome home to both of you!”

  Why, she wondered, was the older man more surprised to see her than he was her husband? Gregory, after all, was the one who’d just returned after a long absence.

  But she offered a tentative smile and said, “Thank you.”

  “Were there any deliveries while I was out?” Gregory asked.