Page 23 of In Somnis

Nothing bad is going to happen because Renée made them.

Marcus’ hand lands on my shoulder, grounding me back in the room. “Come on, we need to head out.”

I blink a few times, then realize everyone else is finished, so I stand too.

“Thanks for breakfast,” I tell Renée, just as Marcus starts steering me toward the door.

She smiles warmly. “Anytime. You know I’d happily have you here every day.”

“You’d change your mind very quickly if I actually showed up daily,” I reply with a smirk.

She opens her mouth to protest, but we slip out of the room before she can, Marcus’ hand still firm at my back.

Outside, I grab my bike, and he falls into step beside me. “Got time to head to the office for a minute? I’m thinking of making a few changes. Would be good to talk it through.”

“What? Why would you talk about that with me?”

Marcus snickers at what must be a bewildered expression on my face. “Don’t you want to know if I turn the company into a casino?”

“It’s yours,” I reply easily. “You bought me out. You don’t need my permission.”

He grimaces. “It’s still our legacy. Your name’s on it too.”

I glance up at the sign as we pass the building—Bennett Logging.

“My name’s on the inn a few streets down as well, yet I’ve never told Aunt Mabel how to run it.”

“True.” Marcus huffs out a laugh. “Not that that stubborn woman would let anyone tell her how to run the place. If she did, I’d have told her a long time ago to stop letting that kid run half of it. If she wants to retire, there are better ways.”

I slow my steps. “What kid?”

“You know who.” My brother rolls his eyes at me. “Nevan Shaw.”

Of course, I know Nevan. Ten years ago, when I offered counseling at the town’s high school, the teachers sent him to me more than once. They called him slow, unmotivated, and problematic. Once, the director even said he was dumb.

Nevan never said a word in our sessions, but it didn’t take long to see what they were all missing. That boy wasn’t dumb.

He was struggling because he was neglected.

I made sure Mabel knew. Nevan’s mother was her best friend, and she had already begged my father to let them stay in one of the workers’ trailers on the logging grounds. Not long after, Mabel took them in and brought them to live at the inn.

“Nevan is in his late twenties,” I inform him, frowning. “He’s not a child. And isn’t he working here as well?”

“Late twenties is basically a child,” Marcus scoffs.

I shrug because, well… yeah, maybe.

“Sure, he works. Here and there. Good with his hands. Not much upstairs, though. No way he should be running an inn.”

“Why would you say that?” I ask, coming to a halt. “Laura isn’t doing amazingly in school either. Would you call her dumb?”

“Whatever.” Marcus exhales, lifting his hands in surrender. “You can keep your psychoanalysis to yourself. If you don’t want to come and chat about the company, I’ve got to run.”

Instead of answering, I let out a huff, put on my helmet, and swing my leg over my bike.

“And for God’s sake,” he adds, shaking his head. “Use your car. You look like a nerdy schoolboy in that outfit on a bike.”

“Have a nice day too,” I mutter, already pushing off.