Page 129 of In Somnis

He turns his head and looks at me, his expression unreadable. Then he murmurs, “How about we try it here first. So I can decide if I want to commit.”

“It’s nail polish,” I say. “Not a tattoo.”

“I’m aware of what nail polish is.”

“You’re acting like I’m proposing something permanent.”

A nail kit appears next to me in the flowers, but it looks wrong. The bottles are the wrong shape, and the colors are off.

“Is that supposed to be nail polish?” I chuckle at him.

“It’s not like I’ve ever seen a nail kit in person.”

I press my lips together against a smile, close my eyes, and think about my kit. The way the zipper sticks on the left side, the smell of acetone, and the little row of dotting tools I keep in the front pocket.

When I open my eyes, it’s there. All of it, exactly right.

I look up to find Ridge watching me, but his expression is unreadable. “You’re getting good at this,” he says, and his voice has lost its usual edge. “It took me years to reach this kind of stability. Even now, I can’t hold it like you do.” There’s that faint pressure again at the edges of the dreamscape, and I know without looking that it’s him, pushing at the walls of my consciousness. “I’d never be able to carry a lucid state like this on my own right now.”

I shrug, looking back at the kit. “I have no idea how I’m doing it either.”

“That’s somehow more annoying.”

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No,” I agree, a smile tugging at my lips. “I’m not.”

I pull the black polish from the set and turn his hand over so it’s palm down, resting on my thigh. He shifts to make it easier, spreading his fingers, and I try very hard to ignore the warm weight of his hand on my leg and how it wrecks my concentration.

I unscrew the cap and position the brush. “Hold still.”

“I’m not moving.” He watches my hands with that same quiet focus, and I keep my eyes on my work. The dreamscape holds steady around us, smelling of yellow flowers and something sour and sweet that I’m starting to understand is just Ridge.

“So,” I say, starting on his second finger, keeping my eyes on the brush. “You heard all of that.”

“A lot of it.” He shrugs with one shoulder. “And like I said. It’s not going to happen.”

I glance up at him. “You heard me telling her the same thing, so I don’t know why you’re acting like I need convincing.”

“I wasn’t⁠—”

“I said it before you even showed up.” I look back down at his nail. “I’m not letting go of anything. I’m going to wake her up. Now more than ever, actually, because she said she’s going crazy in the in-between, so…” I press my lips together, “… it’s time for her to come back.”

“It is,” Ridge says finally. “But it’s going to be difficult. Especially with This Man involved.”

The brush pauses. “This Man?”

“I think that’s the guy Tessa’s in love with. You’ve never heard of him?”

“Should I have?”

“He’s one of those things that lives in the overlap between what’s real and what people collectively dream up. It’s an urban legend.” He keeps his hand still while I work, watching the sky above us. “There are thousands of reports online. People who’ve never met each other, from completely different countries, describing the same face. Same man. He just… shows up in dreams.”

“He’s what, the sandman?”

Ridge chuckles. “I don’t think he’s that cool. It’s more like⁠—”