"I can't imagine not having my own yard or porch.

Whenever you want to be outside you have to share it with other people."

Her grimace gave her opinion on that. Ian smiled.

"You don't like to share, do you?"

"Not particularly. I like people, I want them around me, but I like the peace and quiet of being outside by myself. I like my big old house and my space. I like this town, in all its quirkiness. And I like that no one thinks anything of a Murphy girl being a witch. It's sort of expected."

Ian wasn't sure he wanted the answer, but he was too curious not to ask. "So what does being a witch mean exactly?"

Bree laughed. "I can hear the skepticism just dripping from your voice. It's kind of funny actually.

But the thing is, I'm not professing to be capable of what characters in Harry Potter can do. Witchcraft is just harnessing the magick within all of us via spells . . . it's a nature-based religion that practices goddess worship. I was born with a sixth sense though. I can sense people's feelings and see their auras."

Yeah. He really hadn't wanted this answer. Auras weren't logical. "I'm trying to understand this, Bree, I really am, but I'm struggling. What the hell is an aura exactly, and how can you possibly see it?"

He didn't mean it as a slur, and she didn't take it that way. She just smiled. "I bet your mother knows."

"Probably. But unfortunately, she died two years ago. Cancer." And now there was a lump in his throat, damn it. His mother would have liked Bree, no doubt about that.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Bree reached across the table and put her hand over his. "That must be really difficult for you."

"It was. Is." Ian laced his fingers through hers and squeezed. "But I'm serious . . . what does an aura look like?"

"It's the energy that surrounds everyone. They're in colors, which indicates mood to me. Together with the emotion I can sense from their feelings, I can usually tell what mood someone is in and what they're generally feeling."

"What color is my aura?" Ian resisted the urge to pat the air around him.

"Right now it's white. You're content."

Now that was kind of cool. He was content.

Relaxed. Enjoying the moment. "Very true. What was it when you met me?"

"The first time? In the coffee shop? You were radiating disapproval. You didn't like my nail polish."

Ian couldn't believe she even remembered meeting him, it had been so brief. But so very significant for him, setting off his year of erotic dreams. "That's not exactly accurate. It wasn't disapproval toward you, it was toward me. I was instantly attracted to you, and that didn't fit into my plan, so I was annoyed with myself."

"What was your plan?"

"To focus on my career and date corporate women who know their way around a boardroom and who understand my lifestyle." Now he wasn't even sure why he had thought that was a good idea. It wasn't really even who he was, and the idea of a high-profile romance with chichi dinners and expensive vacations held zero appeal. "You forced me to look at my plan and realize it was never really what I wanted."

"What is it that you want now?"

He wanted to say "you," but he had already said that to her once that day. And it wasn't the true, full picture. "I want to slow down. I want to have a life outside of my career. I want to date a woman whose company I enjoy, who is a friend, who appreciates the small things, and when I'm with her, I don't have to pretend that I grew up upper middle class." He thought Bree fit the bill, and that did crazy-ass things to his insides. "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" Bree held.her coffee in front of her chin and sniffed it. "I want a relationship with a man who respects me as a partner. I want my part-time job at the library to be full-time, because I love working with the kids. I want just enough money to pay my bills but still have enough free time to be with my family, to take care of my house. That's not so much, is it?"

"No. It's not." And listening to her, Ian was having insane lunatic thoughts. Like maybe they could combine their goals and be together.

"Why did you come back to Cuttersville?" she asked. "You didn't really need to give me that offer on the house in person, did you?"

Busted. "No. I wanted to see you, to convince myself that the you in reality couldn't live up to the you in my dreams." Ian stroked her fingers. "I was wrong."

Bree's eyes had darkened. "When I opened the door and you were standing there, I was just about knocked out by the sexual intent rolling off you. I knew you wanted me."

Great. "Was it the erection that gave it away?" he asked ruefully.

She laughed. "No. I didn't look. But there was instant chemistry between us. You can't deny that."

"No, I definitely can't deny that." Ian was about to say something about them dating long-distance, having a future, and probably scare the complete shit out of her with his overeager aggressiveness, when the waitress saved him from himself by plunking a plate of eggs and hash browns down in front of him.

Bree had a chicken salad, which she didn't look all that interested in. While he shoveled eggs into his mouth to appease his completely empty stomach, she just played with her fork.

"Ian, why do you think we've been sharing the same dream?"

That was the million-dollar question to which he had no answer. "I don't know. I don't understand things like this, Bree. I've never been . . . spiritual." It was something he had neglected and ignored, frankly, in the need to pay the bills and achieve corporate success.

"But you're not close-minded to such things, are you?"

Ian thought about that. "No. No, not really. I have a hard time wrapping my head around it, but I do realize there are some things we can't really explain. They just are."

Like his rapidly growing feelings for her.

Bree studied Ian's face. He looked sincere, and he had been amazingly open to her discussing being a witch. He was definitely different from what she had assumed he would be like, and she was enjoying his company. It was odd how they weren't the polar opposites she had assumed based on each of their appearances. In fact, they had a lot in common when you got down to the basics, and she liked him.

Really liked him.

And she was about to say something crazy that maybe she shouldn't say, but she figured she acted out of emotion, always had, always would, and if he was going to be with her in any way, he would have to accept that facet of her personality. So she might as well come out of the gate being true to herself, and he could take it or leave it.

So she opened her mind and told him what had been rolling around in her head. "I think that the reason we've been sharing this dream in our sleep state, is because we're sharing a dream in our daytime lives."

His forehead furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that we have the same goals, essentially.

We both want to hit the pause button, enjoy family and a house and a relationship. We're both lonely and looking for something with someone. With each other."

There it was. All laid out on tire table in the Busy Bee. Everything she'd been thinking. If he thought she was a flake now, well, she'd save herself some time and potential heartache. If he agreed, then maybe, just maybe, it could be the start of something wonderful.

Ian did look like he'd taken a two-by-four in the face, but he wasn't running out of the restaurant screaming.

What he said was, "Maybe you're right, Bree. After today, I'm willing to believe just about anything."

"Really? You don't think I'm insane?"

He shook his head solemnly, setting his fork down.

"No. I think you're amazing."

She'd take that.

* * *

Ian was holding her hand as they walked up her driveway. It was new and strange, but in a giddy, exciting sort of way. It was her house, and they were going to it, a messenger bag filled with his overnight things slung over his shoulder. It was easy and comfortable, like they were a couple, and he did this every weekend.

Her elderly neighbor Edith waved to her, myopic eyes wide with curiosity as she checked out Ian, studying their linked hands. Wonderful. The gossip that Bree Murphy was hooking up would be all over town by morning. Not that Bree cared, exactly, but it would mean a phone call from her mother, and unlike most mothers, there would be no censure. Instead, her mother would be gleeful that Bree was finally getting some, and she would press for details. Bree loved her mother, but she did not want to discuss her sex life with her. She didn't want to discuss her sex life with anyone except the man she was having sex with.

To that end, she glanced up at Ian and said, "You're making me the subject of town gossip."

He looked amused and even had the nerve to wave to Edith. "Do you care?"

"Yes," she lied. "So you had better make it worth my character defamation."

"Sort of like if everyone thinks you're being thoroughly debauched, I really should thoroughly debauch you?"

"You have to admit there's a certain logic to that," she told him as she fished in her purse for her house key.

"I'm all about logic." Ian held his hand out for the keys she had retrieved. "So I'll have to debauch you."

"Damn you." Bree gave him the key chain, letting her fingers slide across his bare skin. She wanted him again, immediately if not sooner.

"I'm going to start now, right here, on your porch."

"Don't do it," she warned him, in a voice that clearly conveyed she absolutely did want him to do it.

"You." He pulled her up against him. "Can't stop me."

Bree reached inside his coat and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I can scream."

Ian laughed softly. "In pleasure, maybe."

"Puh-leeze."