California Dreamin' Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  California Dreamin'

  Copyright

  Other Books by Saffron

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Fallon

  Fallon

  Fallon

  Fallon

  Dean

  Fallon

  Fallon

  Fallon

  Willow

  Fallon

  Dean

  Violet

  Rose

  Fallon

  Heartstone Family Tree

  Catch up with the Heartstone Gang

  My Darling Arrow

  Acknowledgments

  About Saffron A. Kent

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely

  coincidental.

  California Dreamin’ © 2020 by Saffron A. Kent

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Cover Art by Melissa Panio-Peterson

  Editing by Leanne Rabesa

  May 2020 Edition

  Print ISBN:

  Published in the United States of America

  A War like Ours

  (Dark enemies to lovers romance)

  The Unrequited

  (Sexy student-teacher romance)

  Gods & Monsters

  (Un-conventional coming of age romance)

  Medicine Man

  (Doctor-patient forbidden romance)

  Bad Boy Blues

  (Forbidden bully romance)

  Dreams of 18

  (Age-Gap romance)

  Everyone thinks Dean Collins is too old for Fallon Blackwood. Her parents, her friends, even Dean himself.

  In fact, he wants her to date guys her own age. But Fallon doesn’t care about that.

  All she cares about is that she can’t take her eyes off Dean, her neighbor, her best friend, the guy who taught her to ride a bike and to climb trees.

  And sometimes Dean can’t take his eyes off her, either. And sometimes he looks at her like he wants to kiss her.

  So it doesn’t matter that he’s thirty-two and she’s eighteen.

  All that matters is that they belong with each other, and she needs to convince him of that.

  Good thing they’re taking a cross-country road trip together, right?

  California to New York; three thousand miles and a love story in the making…

  *Featuring Simon Blackwood and Graham Edwards from the ‘Heartstone Series.’

  **This is a STANDALONE NOVELLA. This was released as a part of Mixtape Anthology. Since then, it has been revised, expanded and re-titled.

  For my readers, who wanted a story for Fallon and Dean–well, a longer one than I wrote before. And who love Simon and Willow, Graham and Violet as much as I do.

  For my other readers, who don’t know anything about the above-mentioned people but love a good age-gap romance.

  For my husband, to whom I dedicate all the things I make.

  Fifteen years ago, I asked a boy to marry me.

  I was three and he was seventeen. Apparently, that’s a big age difference. I didn’t know that at the time. I didn’t know he was older or what it meant even if he was.

  All I knew was this boy gave me the best piggyback rides and brought me candies all the time. He played with me, read me stories, taught me to climb trees and ride my bike. He was always the one to wipe away my tears.

  When I told him I was going to marry him, he laughed. Then he kissed my forehead and told me I’d feel differently when I grew up. I told him I wouldn’t. And I think we bet on it—I don’t remember that part well.

  In fact, I shouldn’t remember any of it; I was three for God’s sake. But somehow, I do.

  I remember everything about him. I remember growing up with him by my side. I remember him living a few streets over and coming to dinner at our house most nights with his sister. I remember my dad and my mom loving him as their own son. I remember my mom saying she’d never seen a friendship like this, like ours. A boy of seventeen being best friends with a three-year-old girl.

  Most of all, I remember him always making me happy. Or at the very least, making my sadness not so sad. Because not being sad has always been very difficult for me.

  But I’m not going to think about it right now. I’m not going to think about how hard things are or how different I am from everyone else. Because he’s here.

  Dean Collins.

  My best friend and the love of my life.

  From the top of the stairs that lead up to my college dorm, I notice him standing across the cement pathway.

  He’s waiting for me.

  Over our last phone call, we’d agreed to meet here at 9 AM sharp and he’s early. Like always. Dean loves to be early. He loves to go the extra mile. He’s very much like my dad in that way. Always working, always trying to prove himself.

  Anyway, I’m never early but today I am.

  Because I’m excited. I’ve been excited about this morning for days now. When I’d get to see him and talk to him and maybe even touch him.

  Dean hasn’t seen me yet. His head is bent over his cellphone and his fingers are flying on the keypad, and I imagine him typing up high-level, lawyerly things. He is one of the best prosecutors in L.A. That means he never has time to see me. All we ever do is talk on the phone, and that’s it.

  I’ve been in California for about four months now and this is the first time I’m seeing him. Well, the first time after he picked me up at the airport on the day of my arrival to start my freshman year, helped me set things up in my dorm and left with a lukewarm goodbye.

  But finally, he’s here.

  So again, I’m not gonna think about how much it hurts knowing that my best friend, the man I’m in love with, doesn’t have time for me.

  I’m simply going to be happy.

  “Dean!” I call out his name, grinning.

  His head snaps up from his phone and his eyes settle on me. Dark and gorgeous, just like his hair.

  I begin panting, pulling huge amounts of air into my lungs that suddenly feel starved under his gaze. Dean takes me in, his eyes boring into mine, then sliding over my face so thoroughly, slowly and rapidly, both at the same time. Like he needs to make sure that I’m really here.

  A few moments later, his lips pull up at the sides and the lines bracketing his mouth deepen. My breath hitches as his smile comes into view. The smile that I see in my dreams.

  He doesn’t stop there, though. He opens his arms, his thick, corded arms, and I feel a jolt in my chest. An onslaught of memories that fill every corner of my body, leaving space for nothing else but him.

  I’ll wait for you, Tiny. Right outside the school gates, he’d tell me, when I threw tantrums about going to school. Mingling with people, studying, lessons. All these things that might come naturally to other people have always been hard for me. Dean was the only one who could get me to go.

  I’d ask him, teary-eyed, Promise?

  Yes.

  Will you also hug me? Like, really tight? Like, when I get sad and I don’t know why.

  He’d smile and his eyes would go all liquid and soft. Yeah, I will. I’ll hug you for as long as you want.

  He always kept his promise. He’d wait for me just outside the school gates, and as soon as he saw me, he’d kneel on the ground and open his arms for me so I had a place
to run to.

  That’s what I do now, too.

  I rush down the steps, and like always, I run to him.

  But the heel of my sandal twists on something—knowing me, I’d say it could be a crack in the ground—and instead of going straight into Dean’s arms, I’m flailing mine so I don’t faceplant on the ground.

  I don’t. Faceplant, that is.

  Because someone saves me. That someone steps into my space, grabs hold of my waist and my arm so I collide with his massive chest instead of with the ground.

  I’m so thankful and so happy to be with him I don’t have it in me to be embarrassed. Gulping in air, I look up at Dean.

  “Thank you,” I breathe out.

  He smirks. “You’ve still got two left feet, Tiny.”

  I shake my head at him. “It could happen to anyone.”

  “No. Not really. Only you.”

  “It was an accident.”

  “Sure it was.”

  “That thing from the ground came out of nowhere.”

  “Sure it did.”

  His smirk is still in place, and I can’t decide if I want to smack it off his face or kiss it. I settle on narrowing my eyes. “You know, I don’t wanna fight with you today. So, you’re in luck. Or I would’ve kicked your ass for pointing out my coordination flaws.”

  Dean chuckles and strangely, it vibrates through my own chest. “Lucky me.”

  I take a moment to absorb him, absorb his nearness. He’s warm and strong. So solid. Dreams of him pale in comparison to the reality. In my dreams, I can’t smell his citrusy scent or touch the softness of his t-shirt. Or notice the nuances of his brown eyes.

  “Hey, Dean,” I whisper.

  “Hey, Tiny,” he whispers back.

  I love it when he calls me that—Tiny. It makes me feel cherished. It makes me believe that I really am tiny. That I don’t have massive issues for which I take a pill every day.

  “You’re early,” he murmurs.

  I let his rumbly voice wash over me, seep through my clothes and into my skin. Winding my arms around his waist, I bury myself in his chest and nod. “I know.”

  He lowers his face and his lips seem so close to my forehead that I’m disappointed when they don’t touch me as he says, “You’re never early.”

  Closing my eyes, I smile. “I know. But I couldn’t sleep last night.”

  His arms tighten around me in concern. “Why not?”

  I burrow my face even more, grazing my nose against the tight arch of his chest. “Because of you. Because I was excited to see you. Be with you.”

  “You need to sleep, Fallon. Are you sleeping well otherwise? Eating?” he asks, rubbing his clean-shaven jaw over my hair, concern still evident in his voice.

  I sigh.

  God, why does he have to be so wonderful? So caring and protective? It just makes all of this so much more difficult. It makes not kissing him and declaring my love for him even more agonizing.

  Soon though. It’s gonna happen soon. I think. And hope.

  Moving away, I look up at him. At his high, sculpted cheekbones and his soft lips. I gauge the distance between our faces. I’m shorter than him and I will have to stretch my legs, going up on my tiptoes to reach the height where I can put my lips over his.

  I wonder over his reaction. What will he do if I kiss him out of nowhere? I wonder if he’ll kiss me back.

  I wonder if he’ll finally admit we’re more than friends.

  Biting my lip, I ask, “Aww. Are you worried about me, Dean?”

  “Was that not obvious?”

  “You’ve always been worried about me, haven’t you?”

  Studying me, he frowns. “Am I supposed to answer that?”

  I swallow and fist his t-shirt. “Answer me this. Why?”

  “Why, what?”

  “Why have you always been worried about me?”

  His eyes rove over my face. My silver hair that I get from my mom and my gray eyes that I get from my dad. Dean takes me in like he was doing earlier, but this time, his perusal feels intimate. So intimate my body breaks out in goosebumps.

  Then his gaze drops to my lips. My lips.

  Is he studying my lips? Oh God, has he ever done that before?

  The tingles I feel along the seam of them makes me think that yes—yes, he has. Only I’ve never caught him in the act. He’s never been this blatant, this intent. This close to me. So close all I can see is him. All I can smell is him.

  I can’t help but tilt my face up, leaning more into his body. But as soon as I do that, he moves away.

  Letting go of me, he says in a roughened voice, “Because you have a habit of not taking care of yourself and that worries me.”

  I’m a little dazed and a lot disappointed. The breeze wafting over my body feels cold without his heat warming me up. It’s not as if I’m unfamiliar with this disappointment.

  I’ve been feeling this ever since Dean moved away from New York, our home, to California two years ago.

  Sighing, I give him a look. “I’m fine. Everything is fine. As it was when you called me last Tuesday.”

  Even though Dean hasn’t come around to see me since I moved here, he does call.

  Every Tuesday at 8:30 PM sharp.

  Not to chat—Dean doesn’t have time to chat anymore, apparently—but to check up on me. How my classes are. If I’m taking care of myself. If someone is bothering me.

  “Good. Glad to hear it.”

  “You do know I’m not a little girl, right? Not anymore.” My words sound frustrated but I don’t care right now.

  At this, something flashes across his face. A shadow that jumps out under the sunny sky. It goes away quickly and his lips twitch as he reaches forward to tuck a flyaway strand behind my ear. “Little hard to forget that when I was the one picking you up from playdates and kindergarten.”

  Is it sick that the tender look in his eyes makes my heart race? Actually, it makes my heart race and it makes me wanna shake him until he realizes how tremulous my heartbeats are.

  I fold my arms across my chest and cock my hip out. “Well, then I’m glad we’re doing this thing. It will give me a chance to show you that I don’t go to kindergarten anymore and I don’t need playdates to amuse me. I know a few games of my own that keep me pretty happy.”

  Dean thrusts his hands into his pockets and arches his eyebrows. “Is that why you came up with the insane idea of driving three thousand miles back to New York, instead of taking a six-hour flight? Because you wanted to show me how grown-up you are.”

  Bingo.

  Yeah, that’s why.

  Last Tuesday when he called me, I told him that I was going to rent a car and drive back to New York for Christmas, which naturally enraged him. He wanted me to take a plane like normal people but I kept insisting, telling him that this was my first time being away from home and I wanted a little independence—I didn’t—and he gave in.

  He wasn’t going to go home for Christmas because for some reason Dean never goes home since he moved away. But now he is, because he wants to keep an eye on me.

  Well, good.

  Because I can’t take this distance anymore. I can’t hide my feelings for him anymore, either. So this five-day journey back to our home is also going to be our journey to each other.

  Keeping my eyes connected to his, I close the space between us. I feel the air turning static, thick and heated, saturated with all of these emotions inside me.

  “No. I came up with the insane idea of driving three thousand miles back because I wanted to spend time with you. Because you never seem to have time for me anymore,” I say in a soft, low voice, sanded over with my craving for him.

  “That’s because I have this thing. It’s called a job,” he says, his voice full of amusement. Although amusement is hardly the emotion reflected in his gaze or on his expression. It’s too intense, too penetrating for that.

  “Oh, I know. You’re
this bigshot lawyer now, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Are you sure they’re gonna survive without you at the office?”

  “I think they’ll manage. For once.”

  I try to hide my smile at the arrogance in his voice. “My mom’s gonna be happy to see you.”

  Though not as happy as I am right now. I’m bursting with happiness. Such a strange thing for me.

  He smiles. “Yeah, it’ll be good to see her.”

  My mom and Dean have always been close. So have my dad and Dean. But I guess my mom’s more eloquent and more open about it than my dad. My dad is a closed book, very much like this man in front of me.

  “She thinks you work too much.” I do too.

  “Does she?”

  “You have no life.”

  “No kidding.”

  “She thinks you need to slow down a little.”

  “She say that to you?”

  “Yup.”

  No.

  I mean, both my mom and Dean’s sister, Mia, do think Dean is working himself into the ground. But this is all me.

  “She also said you need to loosen up a little,” I continue, making stuff up; though to be fair, he does need that.

  “Loosen up, huh?”

  “So I told her she should leave it to me.”

  “Leave it to you?”

  “Uh-huh.” I grin, and then, looking him in the eye, I declare, “I’m going to loosen you up, Dean.”

  With a slamming heart and buzzing skin, I wait for his reaction. Dean seems frozen for a few seconds. As if all he can do right now is stare at me.

  But the moment breaks when he ducks his head and runs his fingers through his thick hair. “Thanks for the offer but you should tell your mom I’m doing just fine.” Then, looking over my shoulders, he tips his chin. “That your luggage?”

  He’s probably referring to the giant magenta suitcase along with the floral handbag bulging at the seams with all the stuff I’ve packed for the coming days. I don’t care enough to turn around to confirm. I’m more interested in him and his restrained reactions.