Blake didn’t press, allowing Marin to divulge as much or as little as he wanted.From the backseat, Celeste cleared their throat.
“Well uh,” they continued in a halting, awkward tone.“It seems like both Duarte and Anaïs were able to recall their dying wishes—which is a good thing, because I feel like it would be pretty hard to guess at that.”
But what if it’s something impossible, like Laurel’s wish?Blake thought, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary.What if, like her, Marin wanted to see someone who was dead?Or visit a place that no longer existed?The possibility that Marin could be punished with death on a technicality was horrifying to him.
Despite himself, Blake shared the fear with the others.It was too late in the game to keep these kinds of concerns close to his breast.
“It’s scary, but it’s possible,” Celeste replied.In the rearview mirror, Blake could see them wincing.“Let me keep reading.The diary isn’ttoolong and most of the entries are really spaced out—maybe there’s a loophole.I should be able to get through it in a few hours.”
“We should probably stick together for the rest of the night while you read through it,” Marin suggested.
“We can go back to my house,” Celeste offered.“Or…”
“‘Or’?”Blake encouraged.
“Or maybe we could go to your place,” they suggested.“I… I wanted to have that talk with Ryan that you two suggested, if there’s enough time.”
“He doesn’t get home until later, so it should leave you with ample time to go through the book,” Blake nodded, merging onto Highway 50.
“Would it be okay if we stopped for ingredients on the way home?”Marin asked.“I’d like to put together something for dinner.”
“I mean, we definitely need to get something to eat,” Blake admitted with a grimace, recalling the tragically sparse landscape of his kitchen.“But you just went through a lot, Marin.Let me take care of dinner—you’re literallyalwayscooking.I want to take care of you.”
Behind him, Celeste made a heaving sound.
“Excuse me, do you have aproblem?”Blake asked.It was a little early for the tension in the car to be broken by Celeste’s antics.Despite this, Marin muffled a laugh behind the cup of his palm, pointedly staring out of the window.
“OhIdon’t have a problem, but I’ve heard through the grapevine that any and all of your attempts at cooking have resulted in astronomical failures,” Celeste snorted.
“You sure didn’t have any complaints about that porridge I made this morning,” Blake groused.
Celeste ignored him.“If you can stop at the WinCo in Folsom, I’ll pick up some ingredients for meatballs and pasta.I assume you own a knife, pot, and bowl at the very least?”
“Do you think I’m completely inept?”Blake asked.
“Do you want me to answer that question?”Celeste retorted.“Now be quiet, I’m trying to read.”
Blake sighed—so much for trying to honor the somber atmosphere.However, Marin was in better spirits, and that was more important.
Within an hour, they had returned to Blake’s apartment and Celeste had set upon the kitchen with gusto.
“Are you sure you don’t need any help?”Marin asked, hovering at the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room.
“Nope, I got it,” Celeste said, extracting an aging mixing bowl from the depths of the cupboard.“Blake can keep looking over the diary while I cook.Your job is to relax.It’s been an insane day.”
Still, Marin remained firmly glued in place, his mouth a wary slant as he drummed on the countertop.Blake walked up beside him, placing a comforting hand on the small of his back.
“Babe?”he prompted.
“Sorry,” Marin said.“I… I feel like I have to cook every day or someone will get upset.”
“Who’ll get upset?”Celeste asked, shooting an accusatory glare at Blake.“This guy?I’ll beat his ass if he’s been forcing you to cook.”
“No way in hell I’d do that.”Blake scowled.However, he was happier to know that Celeste was so quick to go to Marin’s defense than he was insulted by the accusation that he’d get upset.
“No, no!”Marin shook his head, a deep frown carved onto his face.“I know Blake would never get mad at me for not cooking.I… I feel like there’s this constant risk that if I don’t make food, then there’s going to be a problem.”
“Well that’s absolutely not the case now,” Blake reassured him, giving Marin’s hip a gentle squeeze.“You never have to cook if you don’t want to.”
