Page 108 of In Somnis

“I’m sorry my voice notes have gotten fewer over the years. But I’m going to try again tonight,” I tell her, switching the brush to my other hand. “The lucid dreaming thing. And then maybe you’ll show up and tell me what you think about all of this. About Paul and Nevan and Ri⁠—”

My phone pings from inside my purse, and I freeze mid-stroke, staring at my half-painted thumbnail. “Dammit.”

Carefully, I set the brush back in the bottle and reach for my phone with the tips of my fingers, trying not to smudge anything. The screen lights up with a text notification, and my heart does a stupid little flip when I see the name.

Paul

Are you home? I’m in front of your door.

“Oh my God,” I breathe out, staring at the message. “It’s Paul.”

I look at Tessa as if she might have some wisdom to offer, but she keeps staring out the window. Checking the time, I see that it’s already four o’clock. Shit.

“Okay, okay, I have to go.” I’m already moving, shoving the nail polish back into my bag with clumsy fingers, barely screwing the cap on properly. “I’m sorry, I know I just got here… well, I’ve been here for hours, but…”

I grab my purse and lean down to press a quick kiss to Tessa’s cheek.

“I’ll be back,” I promise. “Soon. And maybe when I manage to actually go lucid tonight, you can yell at me about whatever dumb thing I’m doing.”

I’m halfway to the door when I remember my nails are still wet, and I have to hold my hands up like a surgeon as I navigate the hallway and the stairs.

Nora appears in the foyer as I’m fumbling with the front door handle, her elegant eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Lennon? Is everything all right?”

“I’m late!” I blurt, finally getting the door open. “But I’ll be back soon, I promise!”

She laughs, a warm sound that follows me out onto the porch. “Drive safe, honey.”

I’m already jogging toward my Beetle, hands still held awkwardly in front of me, my purse bouncing against my hip with every step.

He’s at my door. Paul is at my door. Right now.

My heart hammers as I carefully yank open the car door so I don’t smudge my nails and slide into the driver’s seat.

This is fine. Everything is fine. It’s just Paul.

Just Paul, who smells like espresso and looks at me as if I’m something precious.

I start the engine and pull out of the driveway, probably a little faster than I should, my still-wet nails drumming anxiously against the steering wheel the whole way there.

When I finally pull onto my street, I spot the black truck immediately, parked right next to where my Beetle usually sits. “Bennett Logging” is painted in bold white letters on the side. My stomach does that stupid fluttery thing again, and I have to take a breath before I can even think about parking.

This means nothing.

I slide into my usual spot, cut the engine, and sit there, staring at the truck. It’s guilt. That’s all this is. He feels guilty for running me over with his car, so he’s being nice. Perfectly rational. If I’d hurt a stranger, I would at least cook for them for a month. Maybe two.

I grab my purse and the nail polish bag, checking my nails one more time. Still a little tacky, but they’ll have to do. Carefully, I push open the car door with my elbow and slide out, heart fluttering again when I look up at my window.

Yeah, okay, maybe it’s a crush.

The thought hits me as I’m closing the car door with my hip, staring at my blushing reflection in the window.

Fine. It’s a crush.

Which feels wildly unfair, considering he hit me with a car.

It can be a crush and still not go anywhere. I’m very good at having feelings I don’t act on. Months of learning to want things quietly and then talking myself out of them in Spencer’s bathroom mirror have made me excellent at it.

A crush can be just a crush. It can just sit in my chest like a warm rock, without needing to become anything.