I know, because I’ve really tried. CHRISTOPHER HART As Chris gazed at Beth through half-closed lids, he knew only one thing could be happening: He had to be in the middle of some fever-induced, hazy dream. He knew the dream well. He’d experienced different variations of it at least a hundred times. In it, he would feel at peace. He’d feel strangely comforted and hopeful, because he was safe and comfortable. And in each dream, there was always a beautiful, angelic woman by his side. The air surrounding her would smell vaguely of cotton and lemons, mixed with the faint scent of lavender. It was every good smell in the world combined with a huge slice of comfort. To him, it never failed to be completely addictive. At least it felt that way in his dreams. In his mind, the woman was slim. Her brown hair leaned toward golden and her blue eyes were so dark they could be mistaken for brown.
