Page 77 of In Somnis

The corner of his mouth pulls into that downward smile again before he chuckles under his breath. It’s an intoxicating sound, deep and warm, and it shakes loose flutters in my chest.

“Maybe you’re the one in shock?” I ask, ignoring the feeling as best I can. “Do you know what shock looks like if you’re the one experiencing it?”

He turns in his seat to look at me, and there it is again—that strange, steady focus on my eyes. “I like your sense of humor.”

What?

“I wasn’t—” Before I can finish, he leans into my space, his face close enough that I feel his warmth. His eyes bounce between mine intently before dropping to my lips.

Is he going to kiss me?

My pulse starts to hammer in my ear when there’s a soft click, and my seat belt retracts.

Oh.

Of course, he doesn’t want to kiss you, you idiot.

When I finally unfreeze, he’s already out of the car, the door closing softly behind him. I lean back against the seat and take a slow breath, only to startle when my door opens a second later.

Without a word, he offers his hand to me, wet spots from the rain still clinging to his sleeve. I don’t hesitate to take it, trusting him more than I do my own feet at the moment. Then, with his help, I make it to said feet, probably looking steadier than I actually feel.

He nods, appearing satisfied, and releases my hand to grab my things from the back of the car.

“I can carry that,” I protest, reaching for the blanket.

“I’ve got it,” he says easily. There’s no edge to it, no irritation. “We’ll wash these while I clean your scrapes.”

Letting my hand drop back to my side, I follow him through the door, which opens to a large living room. It’s warm and bright, all white walls and pale furniture softened by a whole ecosystem of plants—big leafy ones on the floor and smaller ones tucked onto shelves and windowsills.

I hesitate, suddenly aware of my damp clothes and the fact that I’m dripping onto his pristine floor. He’s already kicked off his shoes, so I tug off my boots and set them carefully beside his. He smiles softly at that, but then his brow creases when I don’t immediately step inside.

“Should I… uh… say hello to your wife first?” I ask, unsure of what to do.

“My wife?” The confusion on his face makes my stomach drop.

“Or… girlfriend?” I rush on. “Partner? Boyfriend?”

He makes a short, startled sound, then covers it with his fist as it turns into a cough. “Boyfriend?” he repeats, incredulous, then laughs once under his breath. “I really should get rid of this wardrobe.”

“I mean…” I keep going because apparently, I’ve decided to die of embarrassment today. “The house is big, and all the lights were on, and maybe you live with your parents? You look late thirties, but I lived with my mom the last six months, so who am I to judge, and I⁠—”

“I live alone. I’m forty. And the lights are on because I’m scared of the dark.”

“Oh.”

That’s unexpectedly honest and weirdly endearing. My heart rate settles a notch. A serial killer who runs people over and finishes the job at home probably wouldn’t be scared of the dark.

Probably.

“I hate bananas,” I blurt.

He lifts a brow.

“I mean, I don’t have the classic fears,” I ramble on. “Darkness or spiders…” He shudders faintly, which I clock with interest, “… heights, all that. But bananas? Absolutely not. The smell makes me gag, the texture is disgusting, and not even the fact that they’re yellow, which is my favorite color, saves them.”

He tilts his head and gives me a full downward smile, like he’s enjoying this way too much, and my cheeks warm.

“Anyway. It’s not a fear but kind of embarrassing for a chef to have a food aversion that bad, especially to the universal fruit that is used in so many desserts and cakes, and I thought maybe if I shared something I’m struggling with, it would… balance things?”