Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lennon
“Ridge!”
His name echoes down the hallway as I rap my knuckles against his door again, pulse still pounding from the dream.
I register dimly that I’m still in my pajamas. My bare feet are cold against the carpet, and my hair is doing whatever the hell it wants. I should probably care about that, but I don’t, because my new neighbor was just in my dream.
“Ridge.” I pound my fist a little harder on the next knock. “Open the damn door.”
If this is real, I need to know.
I’m not crazy.
Tessa reaches me in dreams, that’s just a fact I’ve accepted, so the real question isn’t whether someone can do it.
It’s whether he did. I don’t invent strangers.
My dreams pull from what I know, faces I can already picture, people who already exist in my life.
So where did he come from? I didn’t build him.
Which means either my brain had a very specific and inconvenient creative breakthrough last night, or the man on the other side of this door was in my head.
And I’d really like him to explain that.
“I dreamed about you.” I rest my forehead against the door beside my fist, the fight draining out of me, but then a loud creak sounds from behind me, and just as quickly, I snap my head back up, jumping like I’ve been caught trespassing.
“Everything okay?”
I turn around and find Derek coming down the stairs with Melanie, her tiny hand wrapped around his finger, backpack bouncing against her legs. They both look… normal, rested, and are not wearing their pajamas.
Must be nice.
“Oh. Hi. Yeah. I just, um…” I gesture vaguely at the door behind me. “I wanted to try apologizing again.”
To the man who may or may not have invaded my subconscious and yelled at me about muffins.
God, was that really my plan here? I sound unhinged.
Derek raises an eyebrow. “Since the nice approach didn’t work, you’re trying the aggressive one now?” he asks, amusement threading his voice.
“What?”
“The muffins,” he explains with a grin. “I don’t think he ate them, but for the record, they were amazing.”
“Oh. Right.” Heat floods my face so fast it’s embarrassing. “Sorry. It’s early.”
His dark eyes glance over me curiously, and my brain short-circuits so hard, I actually take a step back.
The resemblance.
Tall, dark hair, his jaw dark with stubble, and the set of his shoulders.
My mouth goes dry.
They’re not identical, but it’s close enough to unsettle me. Derek’s curls are cropped where dream-Ridge’s straight hair is dragged back into a careless half bun, and Derek is all warmth where dream-Ridge felt like something you probably shouldn’t touch.
Even if Ridge felt… darker. Not evil, just intense, which somehow made him way hotter.
Nope.
I avert my eyes and take a step away from the door, needing space from my own brain.
We are absolutely not thinking about the man who just invaded my privacy like that.
At least this is more proof that I’m not crazy. It was that Ridge, Derek’s cousin.
Derek clears his throat. “Did you have time to grab a bedframe yet? I can lend you my car if you—”
“No,” I blurt, then wince. “I mean, not yet, but I’m good. Thank you.”
“Okaaay.” He chuckles. “I’ve got to get this one to kindergarten.”
Melanie waves at me enthusiastically. “Bye!”
“Bye,” I manage, waving back as they continue down the stairs together.
I turn back to Ridge’s door, my heart doing something unhelpful in my chest. Do I try again? Should I ring the doorbell? My gaze drops to the small plaque beside it.
Ridge Wells.
Wells.
Could he be that Wells?
Please no.
Please yes.
I don’t know which one I mean.
My pulse ticks louder in my ears as I stare at the plaque.
Is Ridge the reason Tessa tried to escape reality? Is that why she slipped so deeply into dreams she couldn’t find her way back?
Is Ridge the reason I lost my best friend?
This is too much, too fast. Dream. Name. Door.
I have no bandwidth for this.
Suddenly, I’m glad he hasn’t answered. Because if it’s him, if it’s really Tessa’s Wells, I have no idea if it’s a good thing that I found him, or if I should stay the hell away from him.
I draw a shaky breath and hurry back to my apartment, closing my door quietly behind me before locking it.
New thoughts and questions run through my head at full speed, but I shove them into the same place I keep the other unhelpful ones. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. Shoving. Compartmentalizing. Stacking feeling next to feeling until the cupboard door barely closes.
Mom would have told me to change into some nice clothes to feel more like myself, but first, she would have gently bullied me into a shower.
“Lenny, be soft with yourself. Be soft.”
“I’m trying,” I whisper to the empty room, breathing deeply to keep the tears at bay.
I feel so damn alone in this.
Is asking to get struck by lightning right here, right now, asking for too much?
This is the part where someone should tell me I’m being dramatic.
Tessa would’ve jumped at the opportunity, mocking my spiral without mercy. I can almost hear her voice with a dry little jab.
“You’re gonna be a great headline, Lenny. Woman dies tragically, nails remain immaculate.”
My gaze falls to my citrusy fingernails.
Are these the nails I want to die with?
Would ghost-me float around with smiley citrus nail art forever?
Honestly, yes, but that’s not the point.
It will be okay. It has to be okay.
No ghost nails yet, Lenny.
Shower. Clothes. Normal human behavior.
I strip down and turn the knob, stepping under the spray. The water beats down on me until my shoulders loosen, and the fog in my head thins a little.
It doesn’t fix anything, but it gets me vertical.
By the time I’ve dressed and pinned back my hair with a lemon clip, I almost look like a person.
“You’re fine.” I meet my own eyes in the mirror, applying mascara. “No matter what, you are not crazy.”
My stomach growls, deeply unimpressed by the pep talk as I finish applying blush and my peach lipstick, just enough to look like someone who isn’t actively unraveling.
Breakfast. Coffee.
But when I step into the kitchen, I deflate. I don’t have a coffee machine.
Add that to the growing list of things I apparently need.
I could take Derek up on the car offer. There’s no way everything will fit in the Beetle, but then again, buying real furniture for what might be a few weeks feels excessive.
What I need are answers. Or at least someone to tell me what the hell to do next, because my internal decision-making system is clearly compromised.
I flop onto the mattress and grab my phone.
I need someone neutral and safe.
Someone who believes in weird things just enough that I won’t sound insane for asking.
My thumbs hover for a second before I type.
Hey, sorry for bolting yesterday. Tarot reading today still on?
The reply comes almost immediately.
Jasper
OMG YES
I’m done with school at 11!!!
Do you wanna come over then?
I smile to myself. Of course, he uses exclamation points like that. But then I hesitate, thinking of Nevan and how he snapped at me.
Could we maybe meet at a café or something? I don’t think your brother would appreciate me being there.
Not true.
But I can’t today, I have to watch my mom.
Nevan’s working anyway, you won’t see him!!!
Watch his mom? Is she sick?
I stare at the screen, a flicker of recognition blooming inside me. I don’t even know Jasper’s situation, but the echo is loud enough that it makes me swallow.
That’s okay. I can come by after 11
Excited!!!
I set the phone down and stare at the ceiling.
Something has to be wrong with me when getting advice from an eighteen-year-old punk fairy with crystals feels less unhinged than what I’ve been doing here on my own.
My stomach growls again, and when I realize it’s already after ten, I decide to get up and head to a café in town and grab food for us.
I sling my purse over my shoulder and grab the doorknob, but then I remember Nevan.
I wrap my fingers around the crystal hanging around my neck, running my thumb over the smooth material.
Weird dream or not, I haven’t slept this well in ages, and the crystal might be why. I’m not ready to give it up yet. I am also not in the mood to be yelled at again, so I tuck it under my sweater before I leave.
When I step into the hallway, my gaze is drawn like a magnet to Ridge’s door.
“Later,” I mutter in his direction. It’s a promise to him and me.
By the time I reach the café, the cluster of thoughts from the morning has settled into a dull, manageable buzz. I order two lattes and croissants, and only a few minutes after eleven, I’m walking toward the inn, hands full and breath puffing slightly in the cool air.
Jasper is perched on the front steps, looking like he’s been counting down the minutes.
He’s dressed in baggy jeans and an oversized sweater that swallows him whole, but he’s still layered in crystal necklaces, rings on nearly every finger, bracelets clinking softly as his knee bounces up and down.
He looks up when he spots me, and his whole face lights up.
He’s on his feet in a second, taking the coffees and the bag with croissants from me and setting them carefully on the steps. Then he pulls me into a hug that’s all warmth and unfiltered enthusiasm.
His nose brushes my shoulder. “Oh wow. You smell really nice.”
I laugh and squeeze him back. “So do you. What is that? Incense?”
“And good vibes,” he adds, then breaks into a grin and spins us both around. “Come on.”
He scoops up our stuff and leads me around the side of the inn, into the garden behind it. I stop short at the sight.
It’s a bigger space than I expected, with a little pond reflecting the cloudy sky, flowerbeds bursting with late-season color, and old trees that look like they’ve been here forever.
There’s an absolutely massive one at the center of the space, its branches strung with fairy lights that wind all the way up the trunk and disappear into the colorful leaves. Two swings hang from a single thick branch, with wooden seats suspended by ropes softened and darkened from use.