Into the Dreaming Read Free

throwback to some other era, Jane
, Laura had said a dozen times.
    And indeed, Jane had always felt she’d been born in the wrong century. She didn’t own a car and didn’t want one. She hated loud noises, condos, and skyscrapers and loved the unspoiled countryside and cozy cottages. She suffered living in an apartment because she couldn’t afford a house. Yet.
    She wanted her own vegetable garden and fruit orchard. Maybe a milking cow to make butter and cheese and fresh whipped cream. She longed to have babies—three boys and three girls would do nicely.
    Yes, in this day and age, she was definitely a throwback. To caveman days, probably, she thought forlornly. When her girlfriends had graduated from college and rushed off with their business degrees and briefcases to work in steel-and-glass high-rises, determined to balance career, children, and marriage, Jane had taken her BA in English and gone to work in a coffee shop, harboring simpler aspirations. All she wanted was a low-pressure job that wouldn’t interfere with her writing ambitions. Jane figured the skyrocketing divorce rate had a whole lot to do with people trying to tackle too much. Being a wife, lover, best friend, and mother seemed like a pretty full plate to her. And if—no, she amended firmly—
when
she finally got published, writing romance would be a perfect at-home career. She’d have the best of both worlds.
    Right, and someday my prince will come …
    Shrugging off an all-too-familiar flash of depression, she wheeled her bike out of the tiny hallway between the kitchen and bedroom and grabbed a jacket and her backpack. As she opened the door she glanced back over her shoulder to be sure she’d turned off her computer and ran smack into the large package that had been left on her doorstep.
    That
hadn’t been there half an hour ago when she’d plucked her mail from the sweaty, untrustworthy hands of the postman. Perhaps he’d returned with it, she mused; it
was
large. It must be her recent Internet order from the online used bookstore, she decided. It was earlier than she’d anticipated, but she wasn’t complaining.
    She’d be blissfully immersed in larger-than-life heroes, steamy romance, and alternate universes for the next few days. Glancing at her watch again, she sighed, propped her bike against the doorjamb, dragged the box into her apartment, wheeled her bike back out into the hall, then shut and locked the door. She knew better than to open the box now. She’d quickly progress from stealing a quick glance at the covers, to opening a book, to getting completely lost in a fantasy world.
    And then Laura would fire her for sure.
    It was nearly one in the morning by the time Jane finally got home. If she’d had to make one more extra-shot, one-half decaf, Venti, double-cup, two-Sweet’n-Low, skim with light foam latte for one more picky, anorexic bimbo, she might have done bodily harm to a customer. Why couldn’t anyone drink good old-fashioned coffee anymore? Heavy on the sugar—
loads
of cream. Life was too short to count calories. At least that’s what she told herself each time the scale snidelydeemed her plump for five foot three and three-quarter inches.
    With a mental shrug, she scattered thoughts of work from her mind. It was over. She’d done her time, and now she was free to be just Jane. And she couldn’t wait to start that new vampire romance she’d been dying to read!
    After brushing her teeth, she slipped out of her jeans and sweater and into her favorite nightie, the frilly, romantic one with tiny daisies and cornflowers embroidered at the scooped neckline. She tugged the box near her bed before dropping cross-legged on the stuffed, old-fashioned feather ticks. Slicing the packing-tape seal with a metal nail file, she paused and sniffed, as an irresistibly spicy scent wafted from the box. Jasmine, sandalwood, and something else … something elusive that nudged her past feeling dreamily romantic to positively