Page 50 of In Somnis

Spencer always said I’d make a great mom. I always thought that said more about what he wanted than what I do.

I never wanted kids.

I like them fine in short, sparkling doses. Hand them snacks, make them laugh, send them back. Spencer heard ‘nurturing’ and translated it into ‘motherhood,’ as if those were automatically the same thing.

“These are for you.” I offer Derek the first bag of muffins.

He takes it and peeks inside, inhaling deeply, then his face lights up with genuine delight. “Wow. They smell incredible.”

Heat blooms over my cheeks. “Lemon blueberry. As a thank-you. For, you know… everything.”

“That’s really thoughtful.” He nudges Melanie lightly. “Honey, say thank you.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, but her attention is already laser-focused on knocking at the neighbor’s door again.

“I made some for him too,” I add quickly, lifting the second bag. “I woke him up last night because I don’t know my left from my right, and he seemed grumpy about it. I mean, who wouldn’t, so… peace offering.”

Derek actually laughs. “Oh, I’m sure Ridge loved that.”

“Ridge?”

That’s his name?

“He’s… well.” Derek clears his throat, reaching out to take the second bag. “I’ll give them to him. He wouldn’t open for you anyway, and yeah, he is a grumpy motherf—” He cuts himself off mid-swear, glancing down at Melanie. “Uncle Ridge is a grump, right?”

“Uncle Ridge?” I echo, because apparently my brain has defaulted to repeating things like a confused parrot.

“Technically, he’s my cousin,” Derek explains, amused. “But that’s easier for Melanie. We’re here to bring him his groceries.”

He gestures to the bags beside him on the floor I haven’t noticed yet, and Melanie knocks again, louder this time. “Come on, Uncle Ridge! Open the door!”

Derek strokes the girl’s hair. “You know he takes his time getting to the door.”

“Well,” I clutch my empty hands awkwardly, “… I’ll leave you to it, then. Please tell him I’m sorry, okay? And thank you again.”

How many times do you want to thank him, Lennon?

“No, thank you.” Derek smiles, holding up the bags with the muffins. “And don’t hesitate to call or come knocking if you need anything. You know where I live.”

“If I find the right door,” I murmur mostly to myself.

I’m almost back to my apartment when Ridge’s door clicks loudly and swings open.

“All right, all right, I’m here,” the familiar voice grumbles, deeper and less razor-edged than last night.

Melanie squeals and bolts inside, and I retreat into my doorway, quietly closing it behind me.

Leaning against the closed door, I listen to muffled voices through the wall—Melanie’s high little squeal, a deeper rumble that must be Ridge, and Derek’s calm baritone. It’s weirdly comforting to know life is happening on the other side of the drywall.

In here, though, it’s just me.

Sighing to nobody, I glance at the oven clock. 5:52 p.m. Almost six. That’s late enough to justify pajamas, legally and spiritually.

After slipping off my clothes, I pull on my softest lounge pants and an oversized lemon-print shirt. The cotton hugs me in all the right ways, and I feel about ten percent more human.

Slumping onto the mattress, I tug the moonstone pendant between my fingers. It warms quickly, like it’s pulsing with my heartbeat.

“Maybe it’s time to test you out,” I whisper. “I could use a nap that isn’t haunted.”