Page 212 of In Somnis

“Shit,” I close my eyes and wince. “I’m sorry, that was⁠—”

“Relax.” He almost smiles. “You’re fine.”

I sip my coffee and watch as he takes a sip of his, making a face and drinking it anyway. We sit with that for a moment, until he visibly can’t take it anymore.

“You don’t have questions about the chair?”

“I guess what I saw last night was how you got there.”

“Yep.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

I shrug. “Okay. Let me know when you change your mind.”

His shoulders relax, and he takes another sip of the tragic coffee. “Does it bother you?” There’s something almost careful in the question. Not vulnerable exactly, just stripped of the usual Ridge layer.

“Why would it?” I look at him over my mug. “You’re still an asshole. The chair didn’t change that.”

He lets out a long breath, and with it, the last of the tension in the room goes somewhere else.

Then I ask, because I can’t not, “Does it bother you?”

“Every single day.”

He doesn’t look at me when he says it, but the words stay there. He doesn’t take them back. Doesn’t dress them up. Doesn’t make a joke. For once, he lets something be ugly.

His gaze shifts after a while, landing on my nail set on the floor beside the bed, then he leans forward slightly, studying it. “I saw that your nail is chipped when you snoozed on top of me.”

“What?”

He points. “Your index finger. Looks pretty gross, honestly.”

I gasp and inspect it. He’s right. The polish has cracked clean across the nail, which feels like a personal insult on top of everything else.

“Yeah.” He leans back. “You should fix it. Preferably back to the lemon ones.”

“When I’m a functional human again.” I pull my hand back. “Which requires fresh clothes, teeth brushing, and at least fifteen minutes of staring at a wall first.”

He considers that, his eyes dropping to my nail kit on the floor, then to my chipped nail, then back up, as if he’s talking himself into something. “I think I want mine done, too, when you’re done with yours.”

I lower my mug and look at him.

“The word please exists,” I tell him. “Fine. But I don’t have all day, so they’re going to be plain black and not whatever checkerboard pattern you clearly want.”

“Rude.”

“I have things to do today.”

“Such as?”

“Cakes. Food. A party tonight.” I slide a foot under me. “Nevan’s birthday at the Bennetts’ Inn. It’s open to guests, too, so it’s not just…” I catch his expression. “Why are you making that face?”

I know that face.

“It’s the boy toy’s birthday?”