Bay shifted Savannah onto his hip so he could grab my arm, yanking me along. “Come on, I’ve got an idea.”

He pulled me away from Lou, and I almost dug my heels in, because I didn’t want to leave her. I glanced back at her and she tilted her head, pointing a finger at her chest. Did I need her to come along? My impulse was to say, ‘Yes, of course I do.’ She wouldn’t question it or think any less of me. But I was a grown man and I didn’t need to pull her along like a baby blanket.

I wanted too, but I didn’t need to. Except with Lou, the line between the two was quickly eroding, like a sandcastle hit with a strong wave. I shook my head anyway and she poked two fingers at her eyes, then turned her hand toward me in the classic ‘I’m watching you’ gesture. My shoulders dropped. Even if she wasn’t right next to me, Lou would keep an eye on me.

I followed Bay as he wove through the crowd, stopping when he reached two young women—one short, her tan arms covered in tattoos of colorful flowers from her wrist to the strap of her tank top. Her long, straight black hair was up in a messy bun, her eyeliner a perfect cat’s eye. The other woman was taller, sinewy, with short purple hair that she’d somehow managed to style like a mini pompadour. I could see a single tattoo on the shoulder facing me: a skull and crossed rolling pins. They both smelled like garlic, spices, and oil mixed with a baseline of their natural scent.

Bay stopped in front of them, and they paused midbicker to coo at Savannah while simultaneously assessing Bay.

“You’ve got your ‘I want something face’ on.” The tall one reached out to take the toddler from him. Savannah took it in stride, clearly used to being passed from family member to family member.

“Yes, but not for me.” Bay waved his now free hands at me. “Declan, this is Lara.” He gestured at the short one. “And Jen.” He repeated the half-hearted hand wave in the direction of the one with purple hair. “He’s Lou’s new roommate and Trick’s friend. You guys had a prep person quit?”

Jen and Lara took on identical shrewd expressions as they examined me. “You cook?”

“I’m not a chef,” I clarified. “But I do have experience prepping for large meals.”

“What does that mean?” Lara asked.

I gave them an abbreviated explanation like the one I gave Bay. Their eyes went wide, but again it was Lara who spoke.

“Huh.” She tilted her head to take me in again, as if I might have some telltale feature that could have clued her in to my upbringing. Like I should be named Rainbow Waterfall Freehugs and reek of patchouli, or wear clothes I made myself out of cotton my family loomed. None of those things were bad, but they didn’t apply to me. The word “commune” carried a lot of cultural baggage. “Cult” even more so.