He tossed the chilies and peanuts into the pan.

  "Okay, add the turmeric," he said, handing her a small jar of vibrant yellow powder. "Just a pinch. We want golden, not neon."

  Wanda sprinkled the powder. The onions turned a sunny yellow.

  "Now the rice," he said.

  She dumped the colander into the pan. Aryan stepped in, using two spoons to gently toss the mixture.

  "See?" he said. "Fluff it. Treat it with respect."

  They stood shoulder to shoulder, their arms brushing as they worked. Wanda felt a warmth spreading through her chest that had nothing to do with the stove.

  It was domestic. It was intimate. It was... hers.

  He is right, she thought. Privacy is overrated.

  "Salt," he whispered, like it was a conspiracy. "And sugar. Just a tiny bit. To balance the spice."

  He sprinkled it.

  "And finally... lemon."

  He handed her a half lemon.

  "Do the honors, Lemon Queen."

  Wanda took it. She squeezed it over the steaming pan. The citrus scent hit the hot oil and bloomed in the air.

  "Done," Aryan declared. "Poha à la Spencer Maximoff."

  [Perspective: Aryan Spencer]

  We sat at the table. The Poha was steaming in the bowls topped with fresh coriander and crunchy peanuts.

  "To the fire," I said, raising my fork. "I mean, not to the fire, that's bad. To... new beginnings? Out of the ashes?"

  Wanda smiled, blowing on a spoonful. "To new beginnings."

  She took a bite.

  "Mmm," she hummed. "It is... light. Comforting."

  "Told you," I grinned, stuffing my face. "It's a hug in a bowl. And look at that yellow. You can't be depressed eating something that yellow. It's scientifically impossible."

  "You have a lot of scientific theories about food," she noted.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  "I'm a man of science," I said. "And appetite."

  We ate. We talked. I asked her about her car (a rental, she hated it). She asked me about the house (I told her I bought it because I liked the porch, which was half true).

  It was... easy.

  For a guy who was hiding a secret that could shatter the multiverse, I felt remarkably calm. Maybe it was the Poha. Maybe it was the fact that she was here, safe, under my roof.

  "So," I said, wiping my mouth. "Logistics. Your car is packed?"

  "Yes," she said. "Everything I have is in the trunk."

  "Great. Let's get you moved in."

  We finished up and headed outside. The sun was fully up now, completely at odds with the fact that my new roommate was a grieving witch who had just committed arson (I was 90% sure she did it, but I wasn't going to ask).

  We opened the trunk of the Buick. Two suitcases. A duffel bag. A few boxes.

  "Traveling light?" I asked, grabbing the heaviest suitcase.

  "I did not have much to bring," she said, grabbing the duffel. "Just... essentials."

  We carried the bags inside, up the stairs.

  "Okay," I said, standing in the hallway on the second floor. "This is the master bedroom… that's me. Keep out, beware of dragons, etcetera."

  I pointed to the door right next to mine.

  "And this," I said, pushing the door open, "is the guest suite. But we can call it the Wanda Wing."

  The room was nice. Large windows overlooking the backyard (and her plot). A queen sized bed with crisp white linens. A desk. An en suite bathroom.

  "It is... beautiful," she said, stepping inside. She looked around, touching the back of the chair. "And very clean."

  "I have a cleaning service," I lied. (I just snapped my fingers once a week to banish dust). "And the view is decent. You can keep an eye on your land."

  She walked to the window and looked out.

  "Yes," she whispered. "I can."

  I set the suitcase down on the bench at the foot of the bed.

  "I'll leave you to settle in," I said. "Take your time. Unpack. Make it yours. If you want to paint the walls black or hang tapestries, go for it. I'm easy."

  She turned to face me. The morning light caught her hair, turning it into a halo of auburn.

  "Aryan," she said.

  "Yeah?"

  "Thank you." She took a step toward me. "You did not have to do this. You barely know me."

  "I know enough," I said softly.

  I looked at her. Really looked at her.

  "I know you like lemons," I listed, counting on my fingers. "I know you have a good slicing arm. I know you hate quiet motels. And I know..."

  I dropped my hand.

  "...I know that nobody should be alone when their world burns down."

  Wanda stared at me. Her lips parted slightly.

  "You are a rare person, Aryan," she whispered.

  "I'm just a neighbor," I shrugged, backing toward the door because if I stayed, I might do something stupid like hug her. "I'll be downstairs. Thinking about lunch. No pressure."

  I turned and walked out, closing the door. I caught the reader's "eye," and just like that, the trap is set. Or maybe I'm the one in the cage. Either way, stop staring. It's rude.

  [Perspective: Wanda Maximoff]

  She listened to his footsteps retreat down the hall.

  She stood in the middle of the sunlit room. Her room.

  It was next to his. She could hear him moving in his room later. She would be able to sense his presence through the wall.

  She walked to the suitcase and unzipped it.

  Right on top lay the pink, daisy print apron.

  She picked it up and held it to her chest.

  "I am home," she whispered to the empty room.

  She walked to the closet and started hanging up her clothes. Her grey hoodies. Her jeans.

  She looked at the wall that separated her room from his. She placed her hand against the plaster. It felt warm.

  "I am not alone anymore," she whispered. "I will keep you. I will keep you safe. And I will keep you so close that you'll only belong to me."

  She felt the possessive coil in her gut satisfied.

  She smiled, a genuine happy smile and turned back to her luggage.

  Downstairs, she could hear Aryan humming.

  It was the most beautiful sound in the world.