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Kimi snaps a picture of me on his phone and slides it into his jacket pocket. Today, the crazy male is wearing a black hoodie shirt with form-fitting bicycle shorts, white socks pulled up to mid-calf with hot pink tennis shoes, and his jacket over the top. He’s an off-brand exercise mom. Standing next to Mitri in his usual stuffy suit and tie ensemble is jarring.

I’m about to comment on the outfit when Ben returns and tosses something to Kimi. He catches it on reflex and looks down with no change in his expression.

“A friendship bracelet? Already?” He quickly places it on his wrist, and the silver bangle closes to fit it snuggly. His appearance alters until he’s the blond-haired, aqua-eyed image that first broke into my house and gave me alcohol until I passed out. “Where’s yours?”

“No reciprocation necessary. I give it out of pure love,” Ben deadpans. It would sound more convincing if he wasn’t snarling when he said it.

“Artificer?” I ask in an aside.

“The Hag,” Ben replies.

“Who would want to be called the Hag?” I gasp in dismay with a lip curl.

“The Hag,” King, Mal, and Mitri’s voices blend discordantly.

Others are just messed up in the head, and that’s saying something coming from me. “Does she have a real name?”

King and Mal look at each other and shrug at the same time, uncaring. Mitri simply stares at me.

“Has anyone evenasked?” I grit out with a glare at all of them, including Ben.

No one answers.

“You’re all asshats,” I grumble and approach the coffee machine. There’s a cup already brewing, and the familiar scent of it relaxes my shoulders considerably. I don’t know who’s making this, but it’s mine now.

I open the fridge out of habit to find Ben something to eat. I’m still too nauseous for food after seeing my ‘present’ and freeze.

The entire fridge is barren, a no man’s land of broken dreams. If Ben sees this, he will lose his mind. I slam the door shut quickly, hoping to hide the evidence, and wince as the empty appliance rocks a bit. The bell forthe oven goes off behind me, and I’m praying that every bit of meat is inside it and already cooked. I make a mental list of everything I’ll need to buy and wince. This is gonna hurt the wallet for sure.

When I open the oven, I freeze again. On the pan is every one of Ben’s favorites, from beef burritos to a half roast of ham, perfectly cooked and still sizzling with juices.

I take two steps back, brow furrowed in confusion. On impulse, I step to the upper cabinets and jerk two of them open. The only things inside are six plates. Ben, the bachelor, only had four.

I open the utensil drawer. Enough for six people: knives, forks, and a single spoon. When I cautiously open the fridge again, a small bowl of yogurt with grains sits on a platter with a side of fruit.

I gasp, hands going up to my chest to feel my heart pounding in excitement. I bounce on the tips of my toes and try to contain my squeal, but it slips out.

“What’s happening now?” Mal asks with a disgruntled sigh.

“She’s as insane as Kimi,” King notes aloud.

“I forgot,” Kimi says flatly as he stares at Mitri, “You just brought the love of her life to her.”

Mitri’s head turns slowly until he’s looking down at him, blank expression unmoving. “You won’t win.”

“You did this?” I spin towards Mitri and rush him, slamming into him so hard that he teeters back a few steps before I wrap my arms around his waist in a stranglehold. “Your service, Mitri! You’re amazing!”

He makes the mistake of leaning down slightly, and I take the opportunity to go up on my toes and kiss both of his cheeks. Asexual be damned. If he’s letting me hug him, I can at least kiss his cheeks. Right? Or is this rude?

I release him and spin back towards the kitchen. Everything I opened is now firmly closed again. I use the opportunity to skip to the fridge and hug it. “Oh, how I’ve missed you. The only shining spot in that cursed mansion of doom.”

“That’s a little dramatic,” King frowns.

“How is this a good thing?” Ben snarls from directly behind me. I guess I never told him about my illicit love affair with the kitchen at the agent’s house. I try never to bring up food around him, so it isn’t surprising.

“Ben, it made all of your favorites,” I practically squeal and reopen the oven. I grab the platter from inside to hold out to him.

“Beatrice,” he snaps and grabs the plate from me, tossing it onto the stovetop before holding my hands and inspecting my fingers.