The smell of cold asphalt dissolved, replaced instantly by the overwhelming scent of rain, sweet mint, and the sharp, hot ache of bruising ribs.Gasp!My eyes snapped open. I was lying on my back, staring up at the dark night sky. The pain in my shoulder and hip burned like fire, but my hands were small again. My manicured fingers were clutching the lapels of a heavy leather jacket.I looked up.Standing—or rather, kneeling—over me was Timothy Cullen. The real, six-foot-two, broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed Timothy Cullen, staring down at me with tears streaming down his own face, his dimples quivering in sheer disbelief.“Stella?” Tim whispered, his real, deep baritone trembling as he touched his own throat. “Stella... it’s you. You’re back.”“I’m back,” I gasped, a painful, tearful laugh escaping my real voice.Tim didn't say another word. He immediately gathered me into his massive chest, pulling me tight against his warmth while being careful of my injuries. He buried his face into th
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