Page 49 of In Somnis

Fuck.

I take a shuddering breath.

Pull yourself together, Lenny.

Fatigue stays lodged inside—physical exhaustion layered over emotional exhaustion layered over whatever the hell existential exhaustion counts as.

With twenty minutes to kill before the muffins are ready, I’d prefer to do it without spiraling. While the muffins finish baking into golden tops, I turn toward the other half of the apartment, the bedroom that’s not really a bedroom yet. A mattress, and my overflowing open suitcase right next to it on the floor.

My plushie, Mister Muffin, which is in fact a fluffy, brown, adorable muffin with a cute little face, sits proudly in the middle of the mattress. I set him there like a guardian earlier, next to the folded lounge wear and the oversized fuzzy sweater I used as a pseudo pillow last night.

I meant to buy real bedding today. Pillows, sheets, literally anything that would make this feel less like a sleepover in a storage unit, maybe even a lamp, but then Jasper happened, and the chaos kitchen happened, and Nevan happened…

That asshole.

To distract myself and make the space feel at least marginally more mine, I hurry outside to grab my second suitcase from the Beetle. This time, I manage not to spill its entire soul onto the pavement, but I do dump it all over the bedroom floor instead.

Now it looks like I exploded.

There’s makeup and nail stuff scattered around, because I don’t actually have anywhere to put any of it, but at least my e-reader makes it onto the mattress.

Progress.

The oven dings from the kitchen, snapping me out of it, and I drag my feet back into the kitchen and pull the muffins out of the oven. The heat rolls over me again before I set the tray on the counter to cool.

Cool, in the loosest and most impatient definition of the word.

I give them… what?

Three minutes?

Maybe four?

Just long enough that I won’t scorch the entire surface of my tongue off, but not a second longer because patience is for people whose lives aren’t dumpster fires.

I pick the prettiest one and press my thumbs into the center to tear it in half, steam curling from the crumb. The first bite hits me with lemon, sugar, and that soft blueberry pop, and every muscle in my body goes loose once more.

“Okay,” I breathe out. “We can work with today again.”

I set the half-eaten muffin down and grab two plastic takeout bags I stuffed in my purse from Boston—the one good thing corporate kitchens always have—and portion everything out. Four muffins for Derek, tucked neatly with a little paper towel between them so they don’t steam themselves soggy. Two more for the neighbor, which feels borderline insane given how last night went, but manners are manners.

With both bags in hand, I slip out of my apartment and step into the hallway. I turn toward my neighbor’s door only to see two silhouettes already standing there.

Derek is talking softly to a little girl with dark curls bouncing at her shoulders, tiny sneakers glowing unicorn-pink under the hallway light.

Here goes nothing.

“Hey, Lennon,” Derek greets when he notices me walking toward them.

“Hi. Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding.” He nods toward the girl. “Melanie, honey, this is Lennon. She’s our new neighbor.”

Melanie waves at me with a little hand. “Hi.”

“Hi, Melanie.” I wave back.

Children are cute but… a lot.