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Marion giggled, the sound making his heart skip. “Squelchy?”

“Not exactly a word you want to associate with wine,” Alfie said, looking around the kitchen. “Do you want me to lay the table?”

“That would be great,” Marion said, gesturing with a wooden spoon. “The silverware is in the drawer there and the plates are in that cupboard.”

Alfie followed her directions and set the table for three while Marion put the finishing touches to dinner. The domestic simplicity of the task filled him with unexpected joy. This was what he wanted, these quiet moments of togetherness, building a life with Marion and Charlie.

“Do you want to call Charlie?” Marion asked, stirring the pot one last time before she turned off the heat.

“Sure,” Alfie left the kitchen, glancing into the living room. It was relatively sparse and uncluttered, as if Marion and Charlie had left their lives behind when they moved here. No family photos, no trinkets, nothing that spoke of their past. Just the essentials and a few books.

“Charlie, dinner is ready,” Alfie called up the stairs, and he smiled to himself at the sound of his footsteps thundering toward the stairs.

“Coming!” Charlie appeared with a slightly crumpled piece of paper clutched in his hand.

“Take it steady,” Alfie warned as Charlie ran down the stairs.

“I never asked all my questions,” he announced, waving the paper triumphantly as he reached the bottom and rushed along the hallway to the kitchen.

“I wondered what you had been doing so quietly up there,” Marion said as Charlie climbed onto his chair and carefully placed the paper beside his plate, smoothing it with his hand.

Well, I suppose this means we won’t have any awkward silences at dinner,Alfie’s bear commented with amusement.

Alfie suppressed a smile as he took his seat, and Marion placed the steaming pot of pasta on the table.

After dishing up a portion for Charlie, she said, “Please, help yourself. There’s plenty.”

“It smells delicious,” Alfie said, his mouthwatering as he inhaled the aroma.

“It’s nothing fancy,” Marion said, but she looked pleased with the comment. “Unlike your wine.” She reached for her glass and took a sip.

“I can’t take any credit for the wine,” Alfie replied. “Except for knowing where my brother keeps the good stuff.”

Marion covered her mouth as she nearly choked on her wine and Alfie shrugged and grinned, happy he’d made her laugh. It was such a good sound to hear.

“Are you ready for my questions?” Charlie patted his piece of paper.

“Okay, ask away,” he said to Charlie, unfolding his napkin and placing it in his lap.

Charlie took a deep breath, his eyes serious as he picked up his fork. “First question: How old were you when you started growing things?”

“I was about five,” Alfie answered, watching as Charlie carefully wrote something on his paper. “My mom gave me myown little patch in the garden. I grew carrots, but they came out all twisted and funny-looking.”

He twirled pasta around his fork and took a bite. The flavors burst across his tongue. The tomato sauce was rich, the herbs fragrant and the pasta perfectly cooked.

“Thisisdelicious,” he complimented Marion, who ducked her head slightly, a blush coloring her cheeks.

She is so beautiful.His bear sighed.

“Do plants have feelings?” Charlie asked, already moving to his next question, fork suspended halfway to his mouth.

Alfie considered this thoughtfully. “Not like people do, but they do respond to their environment. They can sense light and turn toward it. Some plants even release chemicals when they’re being eaten by insects to warn other plants.”

“So they talk to each other?” Charlie’s eyes widened.

“In their own way, yes,” Alfie nodded.

Marion smiled across the table, adding, “That’s why Alfie talks to his plants at the garden center. They respond to his voice.”