Page 23 of Ex Somnis

“Tell me about yourself, Lenny.”

Something about hearing my nickname in his mouth makes me pause.

Did Tessa tell him to call me that?

“There’s not much to tell, and I bet Tessa told you enough.” I take a big sip. “Although I’d love to know more about you.”

He is my best friend’s… partner? Boyfriend?

But I don’t think I even know his name.

He tilts his head. “How about this? Tonight, you tell me about yourself. And next time, I’ll tell you about myself.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “We have forever to get to know each other.”

We have forever.

I turn the phrase over and find nothing wrong with it, exactly. It’s the faint impression of something with the word forever landing like a key in a lock you didn’t know was there. But then Tessa tops up my wine and smiles at me, so I tell him.

The restaurant in Boston. The five-star kitchen I clawed my way into through a decade of prep work, late nights, and being the youngest, the loudest, and the most stubborn person in every room I walked into.

He listens without glancing around the room, down at his glass, or giving attention to anything other than me. There’s something about being listened to like that, without interruption or the small signals that tell you the other person is already preparing their response, that makes you say more than you planned to.

“You’re good at that,” I say, stopping myself.

“At what?”

“Listening.” I set my glass down.

Something crosses his face. Faint. There and gone. “So, it sounds like you had your dream job. But you left. Why?”

“My mother got sick. Then she died of…”

No.

Wait.

She’s still here.

I saw her yesterday. I think I saw⁠—

“What did you love most?” he asks, cutting off the thought. “About the restaurant. The old job.”

“The people.” I don’t have to think about it. “Not the guests. The kitchen. The insanity of people who choose to do this for a living. Who wake up every day and decide to stand in heat for ten hours because they love feeding people more than they love being comfortable.” I look at my glass. “I’ve never found anything else that felt like that.”

“Until now,” Tessa says with a grin.

“Until now,” I agree, warmth spreading in my chest as I return her smile.

“What do you miss?” He picks up the flower stem and turns it between his fingers, studying the petals.

“About the kitchen?”

“No.” He stops fiddling with the flower, and his green eyes find mine again. “In general. What is missing from your life right now?”

“My mother’s real laugh.” An easy, true answer.

A weird answer.

“What else?”