Page 96 of In Somnis

She bursts out laughing, and despite everything, I’m grinning too.

“I’m glad my pain amuses you.”

“It really does.” She’s still chuckling. “Okay, so let me get this straight. You slept with her, it was apparently good, and now she pretends you don’t exist?”

“Basically.”

“And instead of moving on, you just… keep trying?”

“As I said. Pathetic.”

She studies me. “Or maybe you’re going about it all wrong.”

“Oh, here we go.”

“I’m serious!” She leans against the counter next to me. “What if the problem isn’t you? What if she’s scared?”

I snort. “Sydney is not scared of anything.”

“Everyone’s scared of something,” Lennon says softly. “Maybe she’s scared it actually was as good as you remember. Maybe that’s why she’s keeping you at arm’s length.”

I want to believe that. God, I want to believe that.

But I also know better.

For years, I’ve simply been functioning. Taking care of Jasper and Mom, fixing things at the inn, logging runs, and sleeping when I can, rinse and repeat. I wasn’t exactly unhappy. I just wasn’t anything. Numb. Going through the motions. Surviving.

And then that one night with Sydney, I felt good. Not drunk-good or relief-good, but actually, genuinely good, as if I were a person instead of a collection of responsibilities. For a few hours, I wasn’t the guy holding everything together. I was me. And someone wanted me.

Then I woke up and went right back to gray. Back to functioning, back to numb.

Except now I know what it feels like not to be numb, and I can’t stop chasing it. Can’t stop chasing her, even though she’s made it crystal clear she’s not interested in a repeat.

I don’t think I’m really in love with Sydney.

I’m in love with how I felt that night, and I don’t know how to let that go.

That feels worse somehow. More pathetic. Less fixable.

I almost say that out loud. The whole thing, all of it, which is something I’ve never said to anyone, not even Jasper. It lives in the category of things I think but don’t look at too closely, the way sleepwalking lives there and the words on the walls. Things that are true, but that become more real the more you say them, and some things are easier to manage if you keep them quiet.

Lennon chews on her bottom lip, watching me with a focused patience of someone who is listening to what I’m not saying.

I’ve only known her for a couple of days. That should feel strange.

It doesn’t, which might be the strangest part of all.

She feels easy in places that usually aren’t.

“You know,” she says slowly. “If you keep doing the exact same thing, you’re going to keep getting the exact same result.”

I snort. “Wow. Groundbreaking. Did you get that from a fortune cookie?”

“I’m serious!” She turns toward me fully. “I can see what you’re doing. It’s sweet. Painfully sweet. But also painfully obvious.”

“I am not obvious.”

“Nevan.” She gives me a look. “You hover around her like a nervous golden retriever waiting for someone to throw a ball.”