Dream With Me: A With Me In Seattle Novel Read online

  Dream With Me

  A With Me In Seattle Novel

  Kristen Proby

  Ampersand Publishing, Inc.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  8. Chapter Eight

  9. Chapter Nine

  10. Chapter Ten

  11. Chapter Eleven

  12. Chapter Twelve

  13. Chapter Thirteen

  14. Chapter Fourteen

  15. Chapter Fifteen

  16. Chapter Sixteen

  17. Chapter Seventeen

  18. Chapter Eighteen

  19. Chapter Nineteen

  20. Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Newsletter Sign Up

  Also by Kristen Proby

  About the Author

  Dream With Me

  A With Me In Seattle Novel

  By

  Kristen Proby

  Dream With Me

  A With Me In Seattle Novel

  By Kristen Proby

  Copyright © 2020 by Kristen Proby

  All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ISBN: 978-1-63350-050-1

  Cover Photo by: JW Photography

  Cover Design by: Hang Le

  Published by Ampersand Publishing, Inc.

  This one is for John, who encourages me to chase my dreams every day.

  Chapter One

  ~Anastasia~

  “This isn’t going to work.”

  I blow out a breath and stare at the shit-tastic mess I’ve scribbled on my sketchpad in disgust.

  The idiots who hired me, and no, I don’t always refer to my clients as idiots, didn’t give me a place to start. When a couple wants a wedding cake, they usually come to me with photos they’ve pinned on Pinterest or found in magazines. They have colors and flowers they prefer.

  They have a bloody vision.

  But the people who marched into my bakery a month ago? They had none of that.

  “We want you to go with your own vision,” they said with wide-eyed smiles and imaginary cartoon hearts bursting over their heads. “You’re an artist, and we wouldn’t dream of intruding on your process.”

  I appreciate their vote of confidence. I really do. And, sometimes, clients are too stringent in what they want.

  “I want exactly this,” some brides will say, and I have to gently remind them that I don’t copy others’ work.

  But at least tell me what colors your flowers are. Throw me a damn bone!

  It’s not my wedding.

  I’ve been in the wedding cake biz for a dozen years, and while living in California, I was lucky enough to be on Best Bites TV, designing and executing massive works of sugar that would make the most discerning art critics weep with joy.

  But now I live near my hometown of Seattle, Washington, where my family is, and I’ve opened a new business here. I love it. It fuels me and exhausts me, just as a person’s passion should.

  But today, there’s nothing in my well of ideas. My muse has decided to go on vacation, and she didn’t give me any warning.

  Fucking muse.

  When this happens, which isn’t often, I find it’s best to step away from my kitchen.

  So, I pack up my sketchbook and pencils, get in the car, and get ready to battle Seattle traffic.

  Once on the road, I call my sister, Amelia. She likes to go to museums with me, and sometimes, the conversation alone will get my mind churning with new ideas.

  “Hello, favorite sister,” she says when she answers.

  “I’m headed over to the glass museum,” I say immediately. “Wanna go?”

  “I would love to, but I’m recording today, and I have to do three videos to catch up. I’m sorry.”

  Lia is a super successful YouTube sensation. She films makeup tutorials and reviews products. With more than three million followers and her own makeup brand in the works, I couldn’t be prouder of her.

  Not to mention, she has a new husband who keeps her more than busy.

  “I get it. I miss you, though. I haven’t seen you in weeks. So, let’s try to do a girls’ night out, okay?”

  “Yes, please. I’m down for that.”

  “Soon. Like, tomorrow night.”

  “Hold please.” She pulls the phone away from her mouth but doesn’t bother to cover it, so I can hear everything. “Wyatt? Babe, Stasia’s on the phone and wants to do girls’ night tomorrow night. Do we have plans? Oh, right.”

  I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, surprised that traffic through downtown is as light as it is.

  “Hey, sorry, I can’t tomorrow night. We’re supposed to go to a gala for the new cardiothoracic wing at the hospital. Jace asked us weeks ago.”

  Our family is big and a little confusing. A diagram and a Ph.D. in astrophysics might be necessary to figure out who belongs to whom, and how we all fit together.

  Wyatt is Amelia’s husband. His brother, Jace, is the chief of staff in cardiothoracic surgery at Seattle General. Jace is a big deal. Actually, there’s a lot of that in our family.

  “We’ll find a night to get together,” I reply.

  “Actually, you should come with us,” Lia says, excitement in her voice. “I have dresses you can choose from and borrow, and I’ll totally do your hair and makeup. It’ll be fun. Say yes. Say it right now.”

  “Like my ass will fit in any of your dresses. Besides, I have so much work, Lia. I can’t waste a whole day on a gala where I won’t know anyone.”

  “You’ll know me and Wyatt. And Jace and Joy. Levi and Starla will be there, too.”

  I sigh because, deep down, I want to go. I don’t get to dress up often, and I love hanging out with Wyatt’s brothers and their wives. Not to mention, I never get to see my sister.

  But I have a wedding cake due on Saturday morning that’s only half-decorated, and I really have to get this other cake designed so I can get to work on it first thing on Sunday.

  “You’re too quiet. You’re thinking of a way you can ditch work so you can go, so just do it.”

  I bite my lip. If I stay up all night tonight finishing Saturday’s cake, I can make it work.

  “Okay. I’ll go.”

  “Yay,” Lia says with a little squeak, making me laugh. “Be at my house by noon so we can start getting ready.”

  “What time is the gala?”

  “Eight,” she says.

  “It will not take eight hours to get ready.”

  “You’re going to look like a goddess when I’m through with you,” Lia promises. “See you tomorrow!”

  She hangs up, and I wrinkle my nose. The guilt of taking time away from work that I don’t have settles between my shoulder blades.

  But one of the things I’ve been working on this year is taking more time for me. I moved out of California because it was killing me. I was working fifteen-hour days, seven days a week, and the result of that was illness and despair. I’ve battled asthma all my life, and the long hours and some of the spices in the bakery were hell on me. N
ow, I have my own shop where I can control the environment, along with how many hours a day I work, and I can admit, my asthma has been better. Taking care of myself is important.

  And taking one day to be with my family is part of that self-care.

  Working through the night is totally worth it.

  * * *

  This was the right call. Being out of the bakery today and immersed in art is exactly what I needed for a fresh perspective. Soaking in someone else’s vision always renews my passion for my own creativity.

  It seems my muse likes to hang out in museums.

  And the O’Callaghan Museum of Glass in Seattle is my very favorite of all of them.

  I’m sitting on a bench in the middle of one of the exhibit rooms, soaking it all in.

  I’ve never met Kane O’Callaghan, the artist who creates such beauty. He seems to love color, as it’s splashed around me. In this room, the glass is shaped like water, waves crashing on beaches with marine life floating around. Blues, greens, and white with splashes of yellow and red here and there tickle my senses.

  I can practically hear the beach around me.

  With the hair standing on my skin, I reach for my sketchpad and pencils. With my legs crossed, I get to work, my pad in my lap.

  People walk past me, but I hardly notice them. I’m consumed by the design that’s taking shape in my head and on the paper. I take breaks, looking up at the glass, the color, the fluidity of the work, and then keep sketching.

  I don’t know if I’ve ever drawn a full concept so quickly.

  Once I’m finished, I take a deep breath and notice my chest is beginning to feel heavy. I glance around, surprised to see a man sitting on the bench opposite mine, watching me with lazy, green eyes.

  “Can I help you?” I ask the handsome stranger. He has dark hair with matching stubble on his chin, and eyelashes framing those bright green orbs.

  “I was just going to ask you the same question,” he says with a voice laced with milk chocolate.

  “I’m just enjoying the exhibit,” I say, giving him a polite smile.

  “Looks like you’re enjoying your little drawing there,” he replies, nodding at the pad in my lap. I close it and drop the smile.

  “Just working,” I say.

  “In a museum?”

  I blow out a breath of impatience. “Do you work here?”

  He tilts his head to the side, watching me. “Not really.”

  “Then it’s none of your business, is it?”

  “Are you one of those people who sits in museums and copies the art there because you can’t come up with original work of your own?”

  “Are you always an asshole, or just today?” I retort, getting more pissed by the second. “Surely, I’m not the only person in the world who gets inspired by art. In fact, I think that’s the point of it.”

  He doesn’t say anything, just blinks and watches me quietly. He’s not creepy. I don’t get a dangerous vibe from him. If I did, I’d run out of here and alert security.

  “Can I see the sketch?” he asks, surprising me.

  “It’s just a—”

  “I’d still like to see it.” His lips tip up in a half-smile that would melt far stronger women than I, and he holds his hand out, waiting for me to pass over my pad.

  Finally, I flip through the pages to what I was just working on and pass it over to the handsome stranger.

  His eyes narrow as he examines the crude drawing. I instantly wish I’d used more color and been more thorough, but it’s only supposed to be for my eyes. A guideline for when I start decorating the cake in just a couple of days.

  “There is no water here,” he says in surprise and looks up at me. “It doesn’t look anything like the glass in this room.”

  “Why would it?” I frown. “I’m inspired, not copying. Besides, that’s just a sketch. When I make the final piece, I’ll know what I was thinking when I thought it up.”

  “I see.” He passes it back to me. “I like it very much. You’ve a good eye.”

  Is that a slight accent I hear in his voice? I take a deep breath, relieved that the heaviness is gone from my lungs. If I’m not mistaken, I can smell him. It’s a lovely, woodsy scent that’s light and masculine and, well…sexy.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  He shrugs a shoulder and glances around the room. “Remembering, I suppose.”

  Before I can ask him what he means by that, a woman comes rushing into the room, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

  “Kane, we need you in the storeroom. Now, when you see what happened, don’t kill anyone.”

  “If a piece is broken, I can’t guarantee that I won’t commit murder.” He glances back at me. “I guess our pleasant visit is over, then.”

  “Wait. Are you Kane O’Callaghan?”

  “One and the same.” He stands and holds out his hand to shake mine. “And you are?”

  “Embarrassed,” I mutter as I slide my hand into his. “I won’t tell you I love your work. I guess that’s clear enough.”

  “But an artist never tires of hearing it,” he replies with a wink before nodding at the frazzled woman. “Have a good time. And take all the time you need.”

  With that, he hurries away, and I’m left in the amazing room, flustered.

  I just met Kane O’Callaghan. I showed him my sketch. He was a bit gruff, borderline rude, and I managed to call him an asshole.

  “Good one, Anastasia.”

  * * *

  “This is fun,” I mutter while Amelia tickles my cheekbone with a fluffy brush. “We don’t do this often enough anymore.”

  “I know. And I get to do this for a living. You should be in one of my videos.” Her blue eyes widen in excitement. “Seriously, I could do your makeup in the video and show different techniques for working on someone else. It’s so different from applying my own makeup. It would be fun.”

  “Maybe one day.”

  Where Amelia is gorgeous with amazing cheekbones and a slender body, I’m different. We share the same blond hair and signature Montgomery blue eyes, but I’m curvier than she is, with wider hips and boobs.

  I’m not exactly the kind of girl who models on fashion vlogs.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m fine with how I look. I like my curves. And when I’m done up, well, I look pretty fly, but I’m no fashion model.

  “We’ll do it next month when the new eyeshadow palette releases,” she says as if it’s all settled. I just stay quiet. I’ll do it for her. It seems I’ll do just about anything for my siblings.

  “Have you talked to Archer lately?” I ask her. Archer is the eldest, and our only brother.

  “Yeah, I tried to get him to come with us tonight, but getting our brother in a suit is like talking a fish out of the water.”

  I laugh at the thought. “It’s too bad because he’s handsome when he’s all dressed up.”

  “I’m just happy that I managed to get him in a suit for our wedding,” Lia replies and stands back to check out her handiwork. “I think you’re ready. Next up is the dress.”

  “Let me see.”

  “Not until you’re dressed.” She leads me through her massive master bedroom to the equally enormous closet. “I’ve chosen three that will look so amazing on you.”

  “I’ll never fit into them,” I remind her.

  “They’re A-line, and they’ll show off your incredible legs,” she says, waving me off. “Try the red one first.”

  I slip out of the silky robe she insisted I put on so I didn’t have to pull a shirt over my head after my makeup was done, and pull the dress up my legs. It gets stuck on my thighs.

  “Told you.”

  “Okay, this one.” She passes me a black dress with sparkly fake diamonds scattered across the bodice. Once I wrangle it up over my hips, and she zips up the back, it fits me like a glove. I stare in the mirror, my hands smoothing down the light material. Amelia did a hell of a job on my makeup. But then again, she always does.


  “My boobs look fantastic in this,” I mutter, admiring the ample cleavage the dress shows off without making me look like I’m a stuffed sausage. The hemline ends just below my knees, and the material floats around my legs like a cloud. “Oh, and it’s light and comfy.”

  “Perfect,” Lia says with a bright smile. “It looks ah-mazing on you. You can totally keep it.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “It’s Versace.”

  “I’m totally keeping it.”

  Lia laughs and steps into her own pink dress that slips off her shoulders, making her look like a faerie princess. Once dressed, she stands next to me, and we admire ourselves in the mirror.

  “We’re hot, sweet sister of mine,” she says. She leans in to kiss my cheek, but I pull away. Lia’s always trying to cuddle me, kiss me, or hug me.

  I secretly like it, but I can’t tell her that.

  “Hell, yes, we’re hot.”

  Wyatt’s waiting downstairs for us, dressed in a classic black tuxedo, and as soon as we reach him, we’re off, headed for the gala. At this time of night, traffic is light, so we quickly reach the hotel where the shindig is being held.

  We’re helped out of the car, and once inside, I reach for a glass of champagne and look for our people.

  “There’s our table,” Wyatt says, pointing to a round table where Levi and Jace are sitting, their heads together as they talk. “I’m going to join my brothers.”

  “We’re going to mingle,” Lia says and takes my hand in hers. “Let’s find Joy and Starla. I bet they’re by the food.”

  “I could use food.”