When I hand Asher his slice, the two of us chow down.
“Ugh… it’s still warm.” Asher drops his head back and groans. “Why does this taste so good?”
I’m chewing my bite and have no words. I am wrapped in a cocoon of comfort-food bliss. “Drunk carbs?”
“Nah, this is more than that.”
As we devour our bread, Asher approaches the fridge like he’s expecting to encounter a bomb. With his neck stretched back, he pulls on the handle, looking like he’s ready to bolt.
Light spills out, yellow-white and domestic. Milk. Eggs. A full cherry cheesecake. A couple of pounds of maple bacon. Raspberry lemonade. Babybel cheese.
“Wow, this fridge is stocked with all your favorites, Poppy.” He checks the dates on the cartons. “And everything is fresh.”
“Who do you think lives here?”
“Someone who knows the way to win you over is through your stomach.” He wanders to the pantry, and I follow him into a space the size of our entire kitchen back home. “I bet there’s a shelf of Oreo cookies and Ritz Crackers in here.”
He flips on the light inside the door and points, chuckling. “Yep. This is all catered to you. Look, they even have a supply of mini Skor bits for when you’re jonesing during your time of the month.”
I shoot him a look. “Do you think you might be finding all of this a little too amusing?”
He scoffs. “No. I think the house is linked to your past and is happy you’re home. The flowers said it all.”
I frown. “What did the flowers say?”
“Peach roses symbolize gratitude, and the poppies were obviously a reference to you. The house is grateful you’re here.”
My mental hamster tumbles off its exercise wheel on that one. I take another bite of bread and am dazzled by the stocked shelves. Asher is right. All my favorite things are here. “Is there such a thing as dry goods heaven?”
“Brown rice, white rice, there are like twenty different pastas, sugar, flour, weird flour, other weird flour…” Asher lifts a jar and holds it out for me to read. “Oat groats? Is that a thing you like?”
“It sounds like a rash a pirate might have.”
He snorts. “Arrrmatey, he was at sea for four long years and when he finally returned to port, he had a wicked case of oat groats.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Yeah-no, I don’t think those are for me.”
“Well, either someone lives here, or the house is DoorDashing pantry staples.”
“More likely the two of us are starring in a modern retelling of Goldilocks, and the bears are going to come home and eat us any moment.”
Asher pulls off the bald cap from his costume and runs his fingers through his shaggy blonde hair. “I doubt it. As crazy as it sounds, I think the house is welcoming you. And since I’m your bestie and have taken care of you and watched your back for the past five years, I think it’ll like me too.”
He moves back to the fridge, closes his eyes like he’s making a wish, and then opens the door. His expression breaks into a brilliant grin, and then he reaches in and pulls out a peach Snapple iced tea. “Thank you, house. Your delicious bread made me thirsty. I appreciate you, too.”
I don’t even know how to process that.
The window over the sink is a big old thing with thick glass that warps the world a little like it’s drunk. I reach to push it open, and it sticks for a second, then slides, and cold air bleeds in, clean and damp.
And beyond that…
“Holy hell, Asher. Check this out.”
CHAPTER THREE
Asher moves in behind me and looks out the window at the backyard. Well, ‘yard’ is an understatement. It is more like the immensely vast property behind the house. He blinks and blows out a long breath. “Okay, that’s something.”
“Right?”
