Page 186 of Ex Somnis

Her nose scrunches. “I know it’s bad.”

“Then put it down.”

“I’m almost done.”

“Looks like you have over a hundred pages to go.”

“I can’t abandon it, Ridge.” She says it like I’ve suggested she abandon a child at a bus station. “I have to know how it ends.”

“It ends badly. For your sanity.”

“I have to finish.”

Okaaay.

I file this away under things Lennon Maes will not let go of, ever, under any circumstances. The list is getting ridiculous.

Bad books.

Comatose best friends.

And possibly me.

I pick up my phone and open my notes app before I say something embarrassing out loud, typing out the thoughts instead.

She never gave up on people. She just kept showing up long after everyone else had decided it was pointless.

I stare at it.

The fuck is this?

Lennon watches me over the top of her e-reader. “What?”

I glance at the note again. “I think I accidentally had a romance idea.”

She sits up so fast the e-reader nearly slides off her lap. “Romance? You? Mister happy endings are a lie we tell children?”

“Don’t act so delighted.”

“I’m beyond delighted.” She’s grinning now, full-wattage, completely unbothered by how smug she looks doing it. “Tell me.”

I scrub a hand through my hair. “Guy meets a woman who’s completely incapable of letting things go.”

Her nose scrunches again. “That’s not a flaw.”

“It absolutely is.”

“It’s not.”

“She keeps rescuing things.” I gesture vaguely. “Stray animals. Terrible books. Random men she finds emotionally bleeding in the woods.”

Her expression softens. “And?”

“And he spends the entire book waiting for her to realize he’s one of the things she’s trying to save.”

Fuck. That’s not a story.

That’s my life with extra flourishes. Apparently, I’ve become the kind of writer who self-inserts.