Chief Callahan chuckled. "That sounds about right."
The front door exploded inward, announcing the arrival of Ziggy Knickerbocker. He stood framed in the doorway like he was auditioning for a one-man show about righteous indignation. With his right hand, he clutched a white bakery box in a protective grip.
He turned to Eric. "Seriously? You nearly die on a hike and don't text me? I had to hear it from Silas!"
His chest rose and fell like he'd been running.
Eric laughed so vigorously that he nearly choked on his chili. "Hi, Ziggy."
"Hi, Ziggy? That's what you've got? I spend the afternoon convinced my best friend since childhood has been reduced to shark chum, and you give me, 'Hi, Ziggy'?"
Even as he spoke, his expression started to soften around the edges. He reached Eric in three strides and hauled him up from his chair into a vertebrae-crushing hug.
After they parted from the embrace, Ziggy pointed at me. "And you."
I sat straighter under his scrutiny. There was something about his energy that demanded attention.
"You're not allowed to be a reclusive mountain man anymore. You're officially back in the Whistleport narrative."
Before I could speak, Ziggy moved again, setting the bakery box on the table. "Apple pie," he announced. "From Miller's. Figured if you were going to have a proper welcome-back-to-civilization dinner, you needed a worthy dessert to go with it."
Mrs. Knickerbocker emerged from the kitchen. "Ziggy Knickerbocker, did you at least knock before you broke down my door?"
"Extenuating circumstances. Emergency pie delivery has unique protocols."
Laughter broke out around the table, sparked by Ziggy's running commentary. Chief Callahan chuckled, and even Mr. Knickerbocker—who'd been playing the role of dignified patriarch—began sharing stories that had him wiping tears from his eyes.
"See?" Ziggy said during a lull, gesturing around the table with his iced tea glass. "This is what happens when you stop hiding on rocks in the middle of the ocean. People get to know you, and it turns out you're not nearly as scary as advertised."
An hour later, the kitchen held the aftermath of a well-appreciated meal—bowls stacked beside the sink and the lingering aromas of cumin and garlic. From the dining room, voices drifted through the doorway in comfortable waves.
I stood at the sink, running hot water over my bowl while steam rose around my hands. Eric appeared beside me, carrying his own bowl. We worked without speaking. I washed; he dried.
Eric spoke softly. "Thanks for staying calm back there."
"Thanks for not letting me fall apart."
He wrapped an arm around my waist. "You know, if I had to get stuck with somebody, I'm really glad it was you."
From the dining room, Ziggy's voice rose in mock outrage over some detail of Chief Callahan's storytelling, followed by a burst of collective laughter that seemed to shake the house's foundations with pure joy.
Eric grinned at the sound and then looked at me. "Ready to go back out there?"
I nodded toward the doorway where our chosen family waited with pie and coffee and the kind of unconditional acceptance I'd forgotten existed. "Lead the way."
Chapter twenty-three
Eric
The scents of cinnamon and vanilla roused me from sleep. Olive Knickerbocker's baking infiltrated my dreams and transformed them into something warm and edible. I surfaced slowly, consciousness arriving in layers.
The guest room held Wes and me wrapped in faded floral wallpaper and hand-stitched quilts. When I rolled over, I discovered he was already awake.
He looked at me with the attentive gaze he usually reserved for weather patterns and mechanical repairs. His hair stuck up at impossible angles, and pillow creases marked his left cheek.
"Morning," I whispered, voice scratchy with sleep.
"Morning."
