Page 185 of In Somnis

Something moves through her expression, soft, pleased, and a little smug. “That was the plan.”

“What did you do, you little minx?”

“I had everything under control.” She lifts her chin, the smugness fully committed now. “The coffee station needed to come out anyway. The muffins took forty minutes. The sandwiches were⁠—”

“A phenomenon, apparently.” I take a bite of the muffin. “I got stopped by guests in reception on my way to find you. To yell at you.”

“You were going to yell at me?”

“I was going to be very stern.”

“You’re crouching beside a swing set, eating a muffin.”

“Sternly,” I say around a mouthful. “I’m doing it very sternly.”

Her lips press together. As I finish my muffin, her hand shifts under mine on the rope, not pulling away, just settling and adjusting to the weight of my hand over hers.

“You let me sleep,” I murmur.

No one does that.

“You needed it,” she whispers back.

“You ran my breakfast service.”

“It was fine.”

“Lennon.”

“Nevan.”

I look at her. At the brightness still in her eyes, the pink in her cheeks from the cold, how she’s looking back at me as though she’s waiting to see what I’m going to do with all of it. Like she did a thing, she’d do it again, she’s not remotely sorry, and she wants me to know that.

I lean in and press my lips to her temple before I’ve fully decided to.

Like my body got there first.

“Thank you,” I say, against her hair, quiet enough that it’s only hers.

“You’re welcome,” she says, almost primly, and I can hear the smile in it.

I pull back, and Jasper looks at me over her head with those knowing eyes and says absolutely nothing, which is somehow the loudest thing he’s ever done.

I should get ready for the logging shift, but instead, I drop down onto the grass beside Lennon’s swing and stretch my legs out in front of me. The ground is cold through my jeans, but I don’t particularly care. Her swing sways a little when I settle, and I reach up without thinking and wrap my hand around her calf, holding it.

Her hand finds my hair, her fingers moving into it like they did last night in the dark, as if she does it without noticing, as if this is already a habit, and we’re already people who do this.

Like we skipped a step somewhere.

I close my eyes and let that be true for a few moments.

Jasper is saying something about the herb Mom apparently gave her and what it does, Lennon is listening and responding as her hand keeps moving, and I let my eyes close.

Her thumbnail traces a slow line from my temple to the back of my neck, and my whole nervous system quietly dismantles itself. I lean my head more heavily against her leg without meaning to, and to my relief, she lets me.

The conversation continues over my head, Jasper’s voice easy and animated, Lennon asking questions with that quality she has of actually wanting to know the answers while her fingernails keep moving through my hair in these long, slow strokes. I am aware, from a very comfortable distance, that my heart is doing something it probably shouldn’t, and that there is a warmth low in my stomach that has no business being there.

Still, I don’t move, refusing to think about it.