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I went into the house and plopped next to my sister on the couch. She extended the bowl of popcorn in my direction. “You thought it was Asher, didn’t you?”

“Youdoknow his name.”

“I do. And did you? Think it was him?”

I took a handful. “Only because I never would’ve guessed Bean.”

“Were you slightly disappointed it wasn’t Asher, though?”

“No, I’m so happy I got to see my dog.”

“Okay, fine. would you have been even happier if it had been Asher holding Bean’s leash?”

“Why are you Team Asher all of a sudden?”

“Because of the look on your face in the pantry when you thought it was him.”

I shoved Zoey’s shoulder.

“Go see him,” she said.

“But our movie.”

“This will be better.”

I knocked on the door and willed my heart to calm itself. It wasn’t that I thought Asher wouldn’t want to see me, but I did wonder if things would feel the same or if everything would be different, cracked.

The door swung open to reveal Mrs.Linden. “Oh, Wren,” she said, her hands flying to her mouth in surprise and delight. “I am so happy to see you. I heard what Asher did and I’ve never been more disappointed.”

“Does he tell you everything?” I asked, amused.

“I sure hope not.” She smiled at me.

I handed her the gift I’d bought her several weeks ago. “Sorry for sitting on your couches. I hope these help.”

She laughed. “You’re a sweetheart. Asher’s in his room. He might be napping. He woke up pretty early this morning trying to arrange something with a dog?” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“I do.” I took several steps toward the hall, then said, “Does he wake up from a nap pleasant or grumpy?”

“He’s a joy, Wren. But I’m his mom, so I’m a bit biased.”

“Heisa joy,” I said. “But I might be biased too.”

I let myself in Asher’s dark bedroom and stood there, letting my eyes adjust. He had the ceiling fan on and was buried beneath several comforters, a tuft of auburn hair the only part of him that was visible.

I climbed on the bed next to him and peeled back the top comforter to see he was facing the wall, away from me. I listened to him breathe for a moment, watched his shoulders rise and fall, savored the last moment before whatever was going to happen happened. Then I reached out my hand and ran it down his blanket-coveredback.

He took a deep breath and rolled onto his stomach. “What time is it?” he said in a scratchy voice.

“Like six-thirty or so,” I said.

He went very, very still. He didn’t even seem to be breathing for a full minute. Finally, he rolled toward me and opened his eyes. He stared at me for a while longer before he said, “Am I dreaming?”

I smiled at his adorable sleep-face, complete with puffy eyes and a blanket-pattern-imprinted cheek. “It depends. Would this be a good dream or a bad dream?”

“It would be the best dream.”

“In that case, no, you are not.”