Page 30

But I would.

“Cinnamon, what was it you said you did for work?” John is only a foot from the closet now, his attention raking over her kitchen, stuttering on the whack mac.

“I was—am—a chef,” Cinnamon stutters, getting up and grabbing the bowls. Walking them to the sink.

I jolt because in my research, the only shadow bigger than John’s was Cinnamon herself.

Who are you, Cinnamon? Why am I drawn to you after all these years?

And I can’t search for any of these answers to those questions while stuck in this closet.

It’s time for me to go.

There’s a scratching sound followed by weight on my foot. Looking down, I come face-to-face with one of my archnemeses.

For years in my childhood, the scratching would keep me up at night. I would wake in the morning knowing that my bedroom had been infiltrated.

Doing everything in my power to not jump from the closet, I push open the door the smallest amount.

The creature takes the escape.

“A chef—holy fuck!”

And then I get to watch and listen to a grown man scream, followed shortly by Cinnamon.

“Rat!”

They both sprint from the apartment, and I take it as my chance to leave, but before I do, I snag the container of mac and cheese, finding a lid and fork for it. Tugging my shirt off, I wrap my container up in it.

My attention whips around the room, and I see something…familiar.

Holy fuck.

Walking in a trance to her bed, where before it was hidden under a blanket, it is now clear as day.

The frog.

Setting the dish down, I scoop up the stuffed creature.

On the day I met Cinnamon, my life changed its course.

My father died, but more than that…

I didn’t join him.

My fingers dig into the creature, attempting to find what I hid in it so many years ago.

It’s gone.

There’s anxiety that spirals in my gut, but I force it away.

She’s alive. Maybe it just fell out, and I need to leave.

Hardening my shoulders, I drop the frog on the bed and grab the mac and cheese.

Instead of exiting through the front door, I tug the window open, balancing the food in one hand while lowering myself over the edge, and hanging on with the other.

The drop isn’t bad, and I roll carefully to protect the precious cargo.