Mine Tomorrow (2 page)

I do.

She gasped a second time.

“Dev?” Emily was watching her, concern evident in her eyes.

“I—I was just thinking about…about men and how they wore suits and ties.”

“For more than weddings and funerals, you mean?”

Weddings
. Devin smiled weakly, but nodded.

“People didn’t go around in ripped jeans. They didn’t wear jeans at all, unless they were doing menial labor. And any holes would have been patched.”

“Now you pay more for holes.” Emily’s wry tone dissolved in laughter.

From across the room came a gurgling sound, followed by a hiss of steam.

“I think the coffee’s ready,” Devin said.

God knew she could use a cup. Setting aside the jacket and skirt, she went over to pour mugs for both of them. When she returned, Emily was pulling something else from the box.

“What’s this?”

“Ooh, that’s an overcoat. Wait till you see it. Here.” She handed her sister both mugs so she could take the coat.

After shaking out the wrinkles, she held it in front of her. Like the jacket, it was fitted at the waist and had padded shoulders. Devin fingered the placket of buttons that ran down the middle and stroked the soft wool gabardine. The quality was evident.

“Wow! I’m not a fan of the Forties, but that coat is gorgeous. And it hardly looks worn.”

“I know.” Devin decided to put it on, going so far as to fasten all of the buttons. It fit perfectly. More than how it fit, it
felt
perfect.

“Gosh, Dev, that looks like it was made for you.”

“You’re right.” Even though Yesterday’s Closet could use the income, she murmured, “Maybe I’ll keep this piece for myself.”

At the front of the shop was a trifold mirror bracketed by a pair of dressing rooms. Devin picked her way through the boxes and went to stand in front of it so she could study her image in triplicate.

Her brown hair was straight and fell even with her shoulders, rather than being swept up in a fashionable Forties ’do. Still, the hat looked pretty good on her. Maybe she would keep both pieces.

On a sigh, Devin dipped her hands into the pockets. Her fingers brushed against something in the right one. It was round and cool to the touch. She pulled it out. A lady’s watch? Before she could make out the time, however, the room exploded in light.

Chapter Two

A blinding light engulfed her. Devin closed her eyes against its brightness and winced at the loud, soniclike boom that followed.

What had just happened? Some sort of freak power surge? When she opened her eyes, however, the scene that greeted her was surreal and caused her to doubt her sanity.

She was no longer standing in front of the trifold mirror. In fact, she wasn’t in her shop at all or even in the East Village. Despite some cosmetic differences and the absence of electronic billboards, she recognized the spot as Times Square. It was packed with people, all of whom were celebrating.

Women were cheering. Men were clapping one another on the back. Sailors in uniform sauntered in their midst, randomly tossing their white caps high into the air. All of them were absurdly happy, but what struck Devin most of all was how they all looked. Their hairstyles, their clothing…vintage 1940s, an era she knew well.

Something about the scene tugged at her memory. It was as if she’d seen it before. In one of her dreams perhaps? But she was awake now and at her shop, or at least she had been. So that didn’t explain why she was seeing it now. Not just seeing it, she thought, as an older gentleman bumped into her. It was as if she was experiencing it, right down to the acrid smell of smoke coming from the cigarette clamped between the man’s lips.

He pulled it away, puffed out some smoke that she swore had her eyes stinging. With a polite tip of his lightweight fedora, he added, “Pardon me, ma’am.”

When he was gone, Devin discreetly touched her forehead, almost hoping to find a wound that would explain things. A concussed person might succumb to detailed delusions such as these, but there was no wound, not even any tenderness.

Had she suffered some sort of blackout or seizure then? Neither seemed to be the case. She felt fine, if confused. Other than that blinding light and hearing the thunderous boom, she’d experienced no other physical symptoms.

That left two possibilities, only one of which was rational, so she eagerly latched on to it: This was another one of her dreams—a dream within a dream. She had never begun to unpack the boxes or even gone to her shop that morning. She was still in her apartment, sound asleep in her bed. The alarm on her nightstand had not yet gone off. She dipped her hand back into the coat’s pocket. The watch that had seemed to start it all wasn’t there. She sighed. A dream within a dream. That made sense.

Especially when she spied
him
in the crowd.

He was taller than most of the men in the square, his shoulders broader. His mouth was wide and sensual, the kind of mouth that looked just as good in a relaxed line as it did curved with a grin. His cheeks were lean and sculpted. At this distance, Devin couldn’t make out the color of his eyes, but suddenly she knew. They were blue. Not an icy light blue, but the fathomless midnight of the deep ocean.

He wore a brimmed hat over his brown hair and was dressed in dark trousers, a crisp shirt and tie, and a dark blue blazer with brass buttons that ran down the placket. The uniform she recognized as United States Navy, vintage World War Two. Devin wasn’t up enough on the other details to know his military rank, but suddenly, in addition to his eye color, she knew his name.

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.