Page 211 of In Somnis

“That better not be an insult.”

His gaze drifts over my face slowly. “Everything about you is cute.”

I cross my arms. “I genuinely can’t tell if that was a compliment.”

“It was.”

“A suspicious one.”

“It’s not often I’m wrong about someone. It’s a peculiar feeling.”

“And?”

A soft exhale leaves him. The hand at my waist shifts, like he’s settling into it. “Can’t say I care for it much.”

And suddenly, I’m very aware that I’m standing in the middle of my bedroom wearing lemon pajamas, hair a disaster, barefoot, next to the guy who usually only invades my dreams. My brain short-circuits, so I turn and walk out of the bedroom before I do something stupid, like climbing on his lap again, asking him for some more pets.

“Hey.” The wheels start moving immediately behind me. “Where are you going? I’m still complaining.”

“I’m making coffee.”

“I’m not done.”

“You can complain while I make coffee.”

He’s quiet for a beat, which I take as agreement. “Fine. But I want you to know, the pacing in chapter seven of your romance alone is⁠—”

“Ridge.”

“I’m just saying, for someone who reads a lot, your standards are surprisingly⁠—”

“Do you want coffee or not?”

There’s a pause, then, right behind me, very quietly comes, “Yes, please.”

I open the cupboard and pull out the instant coffee and two mugs. The kettle clicks on, but behind me, Ridge makes a disgusted little sound.

“What the hell is that?”

“Coffee.”

“That is not coffee.” He sounds personally offended.

“This or nothing.”

“Nothing then.”

“Too late.”

The kettle finishes, and I pour hot water into both mugs before holding one back toward him. He stares down into it as if I’ve offered him something that needs to be reported to the authorities.

“Tragic,” he mutters.

“Drink it or don’t.”

I take mine and head back toward the bedroom, and he follows. “Sorry, I don’t have a couch. So, bed it is.”

He stops in front of it when I sit down and gestures at the wheelchair with one hand. “I brought my own seat, but thanks.”