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“Barely,” I joke.

Just as she’s about to close the door, the orange cat bolts past her feet and into the house.

“Hey!” Celeste shouts after him. Ears pressed madly against his head, he skids around the corner into the living room. With an exasperated sigh, she sets down the paper bags she’s carrying and follows him, though not without stopping by in the kitchen to kiss my cheek.

Curious about the interaction that is about to follow, I tiptoe after her. In the living room, I find Celeste squatting on her heels and looking into the corner behind the chaise lounge.

“You can’t be inside,” she says sternly. “This is not your house!”

She reaches into the gap, a motion that is quickly followed by a hiss and then a curse from Celeste. She stands up, inspecting her hand. I peer around her at the cat, who has puffed himself up and is trying very hard to appear frightening.

“He scratched me,” Celeste says. “Maybe you should talk to him. You seem to have a lot in common… though at least the cat didn’t bite me.”

I narrow my eyes at her but decide to let her little stab slide. “I’m not sure cats can be talked into things.”

“He can’t stay here, what if he pees on my carpet?”

Pulling her back a little, I say, “Why don’t we give him some space and maybe once he calms down, we can shoo him out?”

“Hmmm.” She gives him a suspicious look. “I don’t trust him.”

This makes me chuckle. “He’s just a cat, Celeste.”

She shakes her head but lets me lead her back to the kitchen. Helping her place the bags on the kitchen island, I ask, “How did the meeting go? Did you find a solution to the bindweed problem yet?”

She shakes her head. “No. None of the exceptions are really reliable. Usually, there’s another loophole somewhere but this weed is insidious.”

“What are the exceptions?” I ask, as if I could contribute to this discussion in any way.

She starts to unpack containers of hot food onto the counter. “Well, there’s the connection you can make with the plant itself by drinking it, which serves no real purpose unless you want to grow some bindweed. The rest is mostly unscientific or doesn’t apply.”

“Like what?”

She shrugs. “It doesn’t seem to affect Djinn magic, which is great but doesn’t help us much. Then there are things like being the seventh child of a seventh child, true love, or the appearance of Halley’s Comet. None of which are particularly helpful.”

“Oh,” I say. “Yeah, I guess those aren’t very helpful.”

“So, before Alastor attacked you and resigned himself to a violent death at my hands,” she begins as she picks out a clear container from its bag, “I asked you to have dinner with me.”

I tilt my head. “You did?”

“I did.”

“No, if I remember correctly, youorderedme to have dinner with you.”

“Same thing.” Grabbing another container, she continues, “So I thought we could have dinner tonight. I brought some takeout from downtown.”

I cross my arms. “You’re not asking me again, you’re just deciding!”

“Do you not want to have dinner with me?”

“Ugh. Of course I do.”

She smiles mischievously. “Then let’s have dinner.”

“Can you really not just ask me?”

Putting the food aside, she comes over to me, carefully pinning me between herself and the counter. “Have dinner with me.”