Page 27
Ezra coughs into his fist.
I carry her out before I decide that dangerous sounds fun.
The studio makes her light up. Water murmurs beyond the back windows. The daybed is already familiar, and her scent is thick in the blankets. She almost chooses it, then glances toward the narrow ceiling stairs tucked beside the linen closet.
“What’s up there?”
“Attic,” I say.
Ezra’s head lifts. “We never use it.”
Pepper turns toward the stairs with sudden delight. “Oh, that has potential.”
“It’s dusty.”
“So was Darwin when Honey dropped him in a ditch at nineteen, and he recovered beautifully.”
I start up the stairs.
The attic opens beneath the roof in a long, sloped room lined with old trunks, rolled rugs, two broken chairs, and three boxes of Christmas lights we haven’t touched in years. One wide window faces the channel. Evening sun spills across the floorboards in pale gold bands. The air smells like cedar, old linen, and river breeze sneaking through the cracks.
Pepper gasps against my shoulder. “Oh,” she whispers, “this is it.”
I set her on her feet.
She sways once, then plants her feet on the floor. “Did Honey bring my slippers?”
Ezra walks in behind us with her bags. He digs around until he produces a fuzzy blue pair that look like some sort of animal. “What exactly are those?”
“Tardigrades! A.k.a. water bears! Aren’t they wonderful? My fifth period got them for me last year.”
I hide my smile at the sheer delight that takes over her face as she tells us all about their impressive survival skills while I help her balance and Ezra slips them on.
Pepper wiggles them against the dusty floor and looks absurdly pleased. “It’s like grown-up camping.”
Ezra turns slowly beneath the slope of the ceiling. “It does feel like a place where one should tell secrets and hoard candy.”
Pepper points at the far wall. “Mattress under the window, please.”
“You’re sure?” I ask.
She nods with so much conviction her curls bounce. “The water is there. The light is there. If I wake up confused, I can see outside. Also, I need a nest that feels a little like a hideout.”
That makes too much sense to argue with.
Ezra and I clear the room while Pepper perches on an old cedar trunk with her notebook. She takes this assignment seriously. She records scent strength, heat waves, room temperature, and emotional state while I haul trunks to one wall and Ezra drags the broken chairs downstairs with exaggerated suffering.
I bring up the spare mattress from the guest room and set it beneath the window. “Where do you want this?”
Pepper directs the angle from her trunk. “Little left. No, your other left. Perfect.”
“You’re bossy in heat,” Ezra says.
She bites her lip. “Is that bad?”
“No. It’s working for me.”
Her scent blooms.
