Page 141 of In Somnis

Her hand goes to it automatically. “Oh. Much better, actually.” She looks up at me. “I barely notice it anymore.”

Something in my chest loosens that I hadn’t realized was tight.

“Good.”

“I’ll bring them inside.” Her fingers brush mine when she takes the vase from me, a little clumsy with nerves. When she disappears inside, I’m left in the hallway staring at the space she just occupied.

Nevan steps out with me and leans against the wall beside the door, arms crossing slowly. I haven’t really seen more than a glimpse of him in over a decade. The boy I remember was quiet, the social withdrawal of someone who learned that speaking up doesn’t help.

The Nevan in front of me now, with his easy grin and loose posture, doesn’t fool me. If I were meeting him for the first time like Lennon did, I might read it exactly as he intends. Unbothered. Uncomplicated.

But I know he works two jobs. I know about the neglect in his childhood. I know what it costs a person to survive that kind of negligence, and I know that the ones who come out of it smiling as if nothing touches them are almost always the ones it touched the most.

He’s still carrying it. He simply learned to carry it lightly enough that most people don’t notice the weight.

I notice.

And that’s precisely the problem because Lennon is not in a position to be someone’s steadying force right now. They may not be aware of it, but both of them are holding themselves together with something that looks like cheerfulness but isn’t, not quite. I’ve sat across from enough people in that state to recognize it. She needs someone with bandwidth to spare, and this boy is running on fumes he’s too proud to name.

“Okay,” Lennon comes back, her cheeks looking flushed. “I’m ready.”

“Great.” I step back to give her space.

“Have fun, you guys,” Nevan says, pulling her into a side hug. “On your date.”

There it is again. That deliberate weight on the word, and this time paired with a look aimed at me over her head, is perfectly clear.

Say it.

“Thanks, Nevan. I’m sure we will have fun on our date.”

His expression settles. Test passed, apparently.

He looks down at her, and my gaze follows. She’s gone even pinker. The pink of someone who wasn’t entirely certain this was a date and has now had it confirmed twice in her own doorway inside thirty seconds.

I make a mental note. Again. My soulmate, apparently, requires direct confirmation of things that are self-evident to me. I’ve already noticed that she defaults to the least generous interpretation of anything that involves herself, finding reasons why things don’t mean what they clearly mean.

I’ll work on that.

The difficulty is the method. Because what I want to say and what I’m able to say are separated by a distance I have to navigate carefully. We have known each other for only a few days, and she is already skittish about whether this is a date.

So there’s a line I have to tread, somewhere between saying nothing and saying everything, between the man who knows with absolute certainty and the man she’s still deciding whether to trust. I have to be enough without being too much, present without being suffocating, sure of myself without making her feel like the conclusion was reached before she had a chance to participate in it.

I’ve never been particularly good at half measures.

I’ll work on that too.

Nevan wraps her in a real hug that she disappears into, his chin dropping toward the top of her head, and her arms go around him with ease.

She’s not for you.

I’m aware that’s not my decision to make, but I’m doing it anyway.

“Call me when you get home,” he murmurs into her hair, quiet enough that it’s private and loud enough that I can absolutely hear it, before he presses a kiss to her temple.

My fingers tighten.

I might need to have a conversation with that boy.