“Yeah. One of those big, mean-looking ones that hisses at everyone, but secretly wants belly rubs.” I dab the ointment on his lip. They’re full and so soft…
“I do not want belly rubs.” He tries to look serious, but the corner of his mouth twitches.
“Sure you don’t.” I finish with his lip and move to a scrape on his neck. “What would you prefer then? Maybe a wolf? Too cliché. Oh! One of those honey badgers. Mean as hell but surprisingly resilient.”
“I can live with that.” He tilts his head back, giving me better access to the wound. “What about you?”
“Me? I don’t know.”
He studies me, eyes serious again. “A cat. But not a house cat.”
“What then?” I finish cleaning the scrape and lower my hands.
“Something smaller but fiercer than it looks. Like those fishing cats that swim for their prey.” His voice drops. “Most people assume they’re harmless until they see what they’re capable of.”
I apply a small sticking plaster to the scrape. “Done. It wasn’t so bad. Was it?”
“Thanks.” The word sounds rusty, like he doesn’t use it often.
I step back, suddenly aware of how close we’ve been standing, of the heat radiating from his body, of how his knees bracketed me as I worked. “You’re welcome.”
“Let’s find some food.”
“Good idea.”
We ransack the house like professional thieves, moving from room to room. My fingers trail along countertops and shelves, touching strangers’ lives—a coffee mug with “World’s Best Dad” printed on the side, a refrigerator magnet shaped like a palm tree, and prescription bottles with names I’ll never know how to pronounce.
“Jackpot.” Julien stands in the pantry doorway, gesturing me over. “Whoever lived here was a hoarder.”
I join him, peering into what looks like a dream. Shelves lined with canned goods, pasta, rice, bottles of water stacked in neat rows, and an assortment of snacks.
“They must have left in a hurry. Or vacation?” I reach for a can of chicken noodle soup, the label bright and cheerful. “To leave all this behind.”
“Their loss, our gain.” Julien grabs a canvas grocery bag hanging on the pantry door and starts filling it. “Enough here to last us a while.”
“We should eat and then head to Pine Lake.” I take a second bag, adding items methodically. “If we leave within the hour, get lucky with a car, we might make it before dark.”
Julien stops, turning to look at me with narrowed eyes. “We’re not leaving today.”
“What? Why not?”
“Do I really have to spell it out?”
“I’m f?—”
“You have a concussion, multiple cuts, and you almost died.”
“I am really f—” The word dies on my lips as his glare intensifies. “Not… dying?”
He almost smiles. Almost. “Nice save. But we’re staying the night. You need real rest, not bouncing around in a car while I try to navigate roads potentially full of the undead and blocked. That would be risky.”
He’s right. My head still pounds, the room occasionally shifting when I move too quickly.
“Okay,” I say. “One night. But we leave first thing in the morning.”
“Deal.” He nods toward the back door visible through the kitchen window. “There’s a fenced deck out there with a grill. Might still have propane.”
We load our arms with supplies and head outside. The afternoon sun feels almost normal, warm on my skin, the breezecarrying the scent of pine. For a suspended moment, I can almost pretend the world hasn’t ended.
