Book Title: Flowers Under My Pillow
Author: Nell Iris
Publisher: JMS Books
Cover Artist: Written Ink Designs
Release Date: June 26, 2021
Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance
Trope: Soul mates
Themes: Older characters (40+), instant connection, meet cute
Length: 17 477 words
It is a standalone story
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Smiling brown eyes. A dark beard. Dandelions. Sunny, happy dandelions.
Blurb
Smiling brown eyes. A dark beard. Dandelions. Sunny, happy dandelions.
For thirty years, Frode’s had the same dream. Every Midsummer’s Eve since he was a kid accompanying his sister to pick flowers to put under his pillow, he’s dreamed of the same man. A dream he never shares with anyone, that makes him wish for impossible things…like true love.
“It’s you.”
Then one Midsummer’s Eve, the man of Frode’s dreams stands before him in the flesh. Both men recognize each other despite never having met in real life. Both men are instantly drawn to each other and want to know more.
“Who are you, Viljar? Are you even real?”
Their questions are many but do the whys and the hows matter? Or should they allow the Midsummer magic that brought them together to lead the way into each other’s arms? Into each other’s hearts?
Traditional Swedish folklore tells you that if you pick seven kinds of flowers in silence and put them under your pillow on Midsummer’s Eve, you’ll dream of the man you’ll marry.
“My name is Viljar. Viljar Hede,” he says. Gently, as though I’m a wild doe from the forest he doesn’t want to spook into flight. “I have no idea what’s going on, but would you please stay and talk to me?” Another flower falls to the ground.
“You’re losing your dandelions,” I say in a non-reply.
“Oh shit. I was doing a photo shoot and I’m…” he takes a deep breath and starts picking flowers out of his beard, but I shake my head.
“No. Don’t.”
His hand freezes. “No?”
I shake my head, hesitate for a heartbeat before climbing over the fence without asking for permission, and start picking fallen dandelions from the ground and gently putting them back into his beard. His gaze never leaves my face, eyes blazing and full of questions. And warmth.
“You should finish your photo shoot,” I say as I pluck the final flower from his hand and put it back where it belongs. I’m standing way too close to him; his breath caresses my face, his scent invades my senses. He smells like the surrounding meadow. Like honey. As though the bees have pollinated him.
The proximity should freak me out; I’m standing so close to a total stranger I can almost hear his heartbeat, but instead, it’s calming. Wholly familiar, like his heartbeat is a part of me, like it helps circle my blood in my veins.
And I can’t stop looking at him.
“I should?” God, his voice is rumbly.
I nod. “I’ve dreamed of your beard. With the dandelions.”
“I’ve dreamed of your hair.” He slowly reaches up, giving me plenty of time to pull away if I want to, and brushes away an errant strand from my forehead. “It’s like the moonlight.” That’s the most romantic term anyone’s ever used for my hair that’s so light blond it’s almost white, but I’ll take it.
“Please tell me your name.” His words are little more than a whisper.
“Frode.” My name comes out as a croak. I clear my throat and try again. “My name is Frode Nordin.”
“Frode.” He nods as though it makes sense. “Will you please stay if I continue?” He gestures at the camera equipment. “You can’t disappear again now that I’ve finally found you.”
“I’ll stay.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
He takes a step back. And another. Slow, not taking his gaze off me, as though he’s making sure I won’t bolt. When he’s back in his original spot, he picks up more fallen dandelions and lies back down, sticking them back into his beard arbitrarily. He picks up something else from the grass—a closer look tells me it’s a remote control—but his head is turned in my direction the entire time.
“Wait,” I say and walk closer, kneeling by his side. I take the dandelions from the bouquet intended for my pillow, snap off the long stems and add them to his beard. Then I nod and move away, knee walking backward until I’m sure I’m not in the frame, and sit back on my heels.
His eyes crinkle. “Thank you.” He turns his face toward the camera. It clicks several times as he moves his head a little every time. Only minute movements that I would’ve missed if I hadn’t paid close attention to what he’s doing. Even when he turns to face me again, the camera clicks, and I hope it’s capturing the wonderment shining from his eyes. Eyes that are even more breathtaking in real life and so full of warmth it’s like a hug when our gazes meet.
Everything is more breathtaking at this moment, as though my dream was a faded photograph, not making the real world justice. The dandelions are little suns in his dark, almost black beard, as though someone painted a stylized image of zodiac suns against a night sky. His face is a map of laughter, yet his eyes tell stories of loneliness. His strength is a mountain, yet he exudes softness where he’s lying on his back in the grass with dandelions in his beard. A flower dismissed by most as a weed, and yet he clearly sees its beauty.
This moment is so much better than my dreams. This is real. But how can I have dreamed about him for three decades only to stumble upon him by accident not far from my parents’ home? It shouldn’t be possible. Despite my earlier musings, I am my father’s son. I believe in science, in what can be tested and measured and replicated and proven by others to be true.
A dream can’t be replicated by someone else, can be neither proven nor disproven by an independent person. And in my case, I’ve never even told someone who could verify my claims, I have no contemporaneous witness.
And yet, he, Viljar—even his name suits him perfectly—is right here. Looking at me with a smile so wide it’s taking over his entire face.
“Come join me,” Viljar says
Nell Iris is a romantic at heart who believes everyone deserves a happy ending. She’s a bona fide bookworm (learned to read long before she started school), wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without something to read (not even the ladies room), loves music (and singing along at the top of her voice but she’s no Celine Dion), and is a real Star Trek nerd (Make it so). She loves words, bullet journals, poetry, wine, coffee-flavored kisses, and fika (a Swedish cultural thing involving coffee and pastry!)
Nell believes passionately in equality for all regardless of race, gender or sexuality, and wants to make the world a better, less hateful, place.
Nell is a bisexual Swedish woman married to the love of her life, a proud mama of a grown daughter, and is approaching 50 faster than she’d like. She lives in the south of Sweden where she spends her days thinking up stories about people falling in love. After dreaming about being a writer for most of her life, she finally was in a place where she could pursue her dream and released her first book in 2017.
Nell Iris writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angsty, short over long, and quirky characters over alpha males.
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