“And for dessert we have…” He shakes a box of Twinkies, another reference from the movie. “Got the sense you have a sweet tooth.”
Playing along, I add, “For hors d’oeuvres,”—I pull out a bag of candy and drape it over my arm—“an assortment of gummy numbers, for good luck.”
Logan gives me a questioning look. “Eights and sevens?”
“Eight is auspicious in Chinese culture. The pronunciation of it sounds like how you sayto make fortune,” I explain. Dad never let me forget this. “And you mentioned having Welsh grandparents. Seven is supposed to be lucky.”
He takes the bag from me and smiles at it. “You remembered that?”
I remember everything about you, I don’t say. “This is the good stuff. It’s from the shop,” I say instead. “You got me candy, so here’s some back.”
He rubs his neck. “Thank you. I’m a little embarrassed I got you bodega cherry gummies.”
“Candy is candy. I don’t discriminate.”
He plops the bag in the center of the table for us to share. Even when he’s doing something mundane like popping the lids off takeout boxes, he wears a small, permanent smile. It’s too cute.
Suddenly, I’m nervous. “You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble. The last thing you need to do is spend money on me.”
Logan nods toward the candy without missing a beat. “It’s no trouble, and I could say the same to you.”
“Sugar and renting out a firehouse are not the same things.”
“Maybe not, but we both wanted to do something nice for each other.” He glances up at me, his eyebrow arched. “You don’t need to reciprocate this.”
“Fine. I’ll cancel my ask to the police precinct,” I joke.
Logan laughs.
“Thanks for planning this,” I add. “I’ve never been inside—or on—a firehouse before.”
“I thought you’d like it because you mentioned the Ecto-1 at the pizza shop.”
Did I? “How do you remember that?”
“I remember everything about you,” he says, sounding entirely serious.
Oh.
His earnestness catches me off guard. My nerves can’t catch a break. “What was it with the eighties and cars?” I ask, trying to distract myself from the fact that maybe what I’m feeling isn’t actually nerves but… excitement? “I’m marathoning eighties movies, and wow, did they love their vehicles.”
“You enjoyed the movie, though, right?” Logan asks, scooping a heaping mound of rice onto my plate.
“Enough for me to remember the car’s name.”
“Good. Otherwise, this really would’ve been a bust.”
“Ha ha.” I add a spoonful of General Tso’s onto my rice. “I had never seen a ghost movie before. Do you find that weird?”
“I find nothing about you weird,” Logan says, though he can’t help but ask, “So you’ve never seenCasper?”
“My dad’s superstitious. He wouldn’t let us watch any movies with ghosts in them,” I share. “Especially after my mom…” I swallow. “After my mom died.”
Logan sets his chopsticks down. “Hazel—”
“It’s okay. I’m fine. It was a really long time ago,” I say, waving him off. “But when people face uncertainty, they lean into superstitions. That’s my dad in a nutshell. He grew up hearing how ghosts could be harmful if provoked and didn’t want anything to do with them.”
Logan watches me for a second with concerned eyes before following my lead and moving on. “But you’re not a believer in ghosts, superstitions, the paranormal?” he asks.
