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“Good.” My lips twitch, before turning up into a smile.

It’s over. The blackmail is done. My life is mine again. No more looking over my shoulder. I can finally close that chapter of my life, and throw the book in the flames. I dig out my phone from my back pocket, still grinning like a fool.

I just got some good news. Want to celebrate?

Casper

Congrats! What are we celebrating?

Tell you later, but I was hoping we could hang out at your house this time . . . I want to meet Debra.

And maybe we can order dinner. Casper refused to eat any of the chili I made, which means I’ve been eating it for nearly a week now.

Casper

Uh, sure. 8:00 work? Sleepover?

Perfect!

Before I arrive, I stop at the store for berries for Debra as a small offering to get her to like me. While waiting in line, I glimpse at the section of seasonal decor. As usual, Christmas is being jammed down our throats before the turkey.

One of the shelves holds three stacks of doormats. The first says Season’s Greetings, the second is covered in snowflakes, and the third has a string of lights with Home written above it. The corner of my mouth turns up and I step out of line to pluck one off the shelf. He made it seem like the front of his house could use a personal touch.

Yup. This is what he described, but it still surprises me. The unassuming brick rambler sits on a regular street in a regular neighborhood. Other than a light in the front window, there’s not really a sign of life. For someone who has such a big personality, it’s peculiar how mundane his house is. It's willfully unremarkable, as if he wants to remain unseen. It’s such a contrast to the man I know.

I sit in my car for a second longer than I need to, and glance over at the doormat folded awkwardly on the passenger seat. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but maybe he’ll think it’s stupid. It was supposed to be a small gesture to soften the edges, make his space more welcoming. Not for others, for him.

“Okay,” I mumble to myself. “You bought it. You’re committed.”

I get out and walk the short path to the front porch and center the mat with his door. I won’t address it, just leave it there. He probably won’t even notice. Clutching the carton of blueberries, I knock twice.

Casper answers the door almost immediately. He fills the doorframe, making the entry look miniature. A black Henley is fitted across his chest, sleeves pushed up his forearms, revealing the ink that trails down both arms and over the tops of his hands that feature the faces of skulls and the HERE and NOW across his knuckles.

“Hi.”

He pulls me into the house, but pauses before shutting the door. His gaze catches on the mat.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, um . . .” I shrug. “A doormat. For your house.”

He steps onto the freezing cement porch and stands in front of it, staring. “It says Home.”

Casper looks at it like he doesn’t quite know what to do with it, but his features soften.

“It’s just for decoration.”

“For me?”

“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “I figured you could use something that feels a little . . . cozy.”

He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Home,” he repeats, his voice softer now. “Thank you.”

I almost laugh—he likes it. Like, really likes it. His reaction warms my chest, but I don’t draw attention to the subtle display of vulnerability. I reach for him. “Come inside, show me around.”

He follows me in, still beaming at the mat before closing the door. I remove my shoes while scanning the interior. There’s not much to see.

Casper leads me through the narrow galley kitchen that faintly smells of lemon cleaner. The mid-century butcher block countertops are bare except for the coffee maker pushed against the backsplash and there’s an empty corner nook where a table should be.