Either way, by the end of the week, I realized I’d done a fair job memorizing her work schedule and picking up on her habits. For example, I’d realized that Lou had a sweet tooth. Was that why I was currently making cookies with the help of two ferrets?

Maybe. Okay, yes.

I also needed to do something that wasn’t focusing on the fact that I’d turned in a lot of applications but hadn’t heard a peep. Things weren’t dire yet, but I couldn’t coast for too long.

I opened one of the kitchen drawers, wondering if anyone would mind if I reorganized the kitchen. It was a little haphazard. Of course, from what I’d seen so far, my roommates didn’t spend much time cooking. I wasn’t sure if they didn’t have time or if they didn’t like cooking, but so far the kitchen had mostly been used for takeout. “Okay, I give up. Where are the measuring spoons?”

Kodo hopped along the counter, stopping near one of the drawers. He chittered at me.

“You’re handy when you’re not scaring me half to death.” I swept him off the counter and put him on my shoulder. “But I’m not sure if it’s hygienic to have you running around the kitchen counters.” I opened the door and found the measuring spoons. Where there was one ferret, there was usually another. Sure enough, Podo was peeking into the mixing bowl. I put him on my other shoulder. He immediately started digging through my hair.

I found an old hand mixer in one of the cabinets, set the oven to preheat, and got to work. One thing I liked about cooking, especially if it was a familiar recipe, was that you could just lose yourself in the motions. The ferrets, for their part, seemed content to watch, occasionally helping me when I needed to find something.

I’d just put the first batch into the oven when Lou walked into the kitchen.

I waited for the panic to hit. When it didn’t, my shoulders relaxed a fraction. I still wasn’t comfortable, but I wasn’t strung tight enough to crack, either.

I glanced at the clock. Lou was home early. She was still in her scrubs, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. The skin under her eyes was bruised, the joy she often radiated dimmed. She collapsed into one of the bar stools across from me.

If I wanted, I could reach out and touch her. My heartbeat ticked up and I wasn’t sure if it was from fear or not.

For a second, I considered turning off the oven and hiding in my room. Which felt ridiculous. I took a deep breath, reminding myself that it was just Lou. She’d never done anything terrible to me beyond leaving toast crumbs on the cutting board or singing off-key in the shower.

“Bad day?”

She nodded glumly, resting her chin in her hands.

I scooped the next batch of cookies onto the sheet. “Hot tea bad, hot chocolate bad, or shot of tequila bad?” When she didn’t answer right away, I added, “Entire bottle of tequila bad?”