Page 109 of In Somnis

I agreed to the whole “help each other with our crushes” thing so I could help Nevan with Sydney, because watching him fumble around her is painful, and I genuinely want him to be happy. I don’t think for a second that he could actually help me with anything Paul-related, though.

Because Paul is only here because of guilt.

Maybe I need to think it five hundred times more before my heart gets the memo.

I have to use my elbow to open the building door, wedging myself against the heavy frame until it swings open. Of all the times for my nail polish to still be wet. At the elevator, I jab the button with my knuckle, then stand there bouncing on my heels while I wait, my nerves buzzing.

He’s waiting for you. Right now. At your door.

The elevator arrives with a tired groan, and I step inside, pressing my floor button with another careful knuckle-jab. The slow ascent feels eternal, and I use every second of it to have a very firm conversation with myself.

He feels guilty. That’s it. That’s the whole explanation.

The fact that my stomach is currently behaving like I’m fifteen and about to knock on a boy’s front door for the first time is embarrassing and unhelpful and needs to stop immediately.

It doesn’t stop.

The elevator lurches to a halt, and my stomach goes with it. The doors slide open with their usual reluctant groan, and I take one breath before I step out into the hallway.

He’s still there.

Leaning against my door with his back pressed to it, arms crossed over his chest, ankles crossed casually like he’s been waiting a while. His long legs stretch out in front of him, and beside him, stacked neatly against the wall, are several large cardboard boxes.

He hasn’t seen me yet, and for a single suspended second, I stand in the hallway, heart doing stupid things, thinking that Paul Bennett looks completely at ease outside my door, that this is either very good or very bad, and I cannot tell which.

Not to mention how good he’s looking while he’s doing it.

My fingers tighten around my purse strap as I force my feet to move forward, closing the distance between us slowly, even though every nerve in my body is screaming at me to run. Not away but toward. Which is somehow more terrifying.

He lifts his head the moment he hears my footsteps, that downward smile breaking across his face, and when he straightens to his full height, I’m suddenly very aware of how tall he is.

“Hey.” His voice is warm, almost relieved. “I was starting to think I’d have to go find you again.”

“I’m sorry,” I manage, my eyes flicking from his face to the boxes stacked against the wall and back again. “I forgot about the time.”

“Don’t worry.” He shifts his weight, uncrossing his arms, and the movement draws my attention to the way his shirt stretches across his biceps. “I don’t mind waiting for you.”

For you. Not waiting but waiting for you.

I stop in front of him and frown at the boxes. “What are those?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches out slowly, giving me time to pull back if I want to, but I don’t. Can’t. His palm is warm when it cups my cheek, his thumb brushing just below my ear in a touch so gentle, my breath goes unsteady. He uses that hand to guide me closer, not pulling, but… inviting, and I go, tilting my head back as he leans down. His lips press against the corner of my mouth, soft and so close to an actual kiss that my heart does a backward flip.

“Hey,” he murmurs against my skin.

“You already said that,” I manage to press out, my voice breathy.

He chuckles. “But you didn’t say it back.”

“Hello,” I whisper, because apparently that’s all my brain can manage right now.

He pulls back slowly, enough to look into my eyes, and we stand there, his hand still on my cheek, and my pulse thundering in my ears.

“All right,” he says finally, his thumb stroking across my cheekbone before he lets go. He claps his hands together once, the sound loud in the quiet hallway, breaking whatever spell we were under. “Let’s do this.”

“Do what exactly?” I ask, already digging for my keys with the tips of my still-tacky nails, only to have anything other to do than stare at his eyes, before fumbling to get the right one into the lock.

“This.” He gestures at the empty space behind my door as I push it open.