He pointed toward a door at the far side of the kitchen.

“Oh. Just right there?”

The corners of his mouth crept upward. He nodded.

“Thanks.” Bumping into a chair, she crossed to the door.

“You’ll need the candle.”

“Right!” Her voice rang too loudly in the empty kitchen. She snatched it from the table. “Thanks,” she added in a hushed tone. Taking hold of the doorknob, she hesitated. To say she had no idea what to expect from the bathroom was an understatement. She darted a glance over one shoulder. “Is there anything I need to know…about the facilities?”

“Don’t think so.” The shadows creasing his cheeks deepened.

“I am a gift. I am a gift,” she murmured and spun the knob. To her surprise, the small half bath was entirely twenty-first century. The toilet flushed. Hot and cold water poured from the faucets. She burst into the kitchen, now brightly lit by an overhead lamp, and tented her hand over her eyes. “Your toilet flushes!”

“Want some ham?” He extended a forkful.

She smiled. “Kinda middle-of-the-nightish for ham. Thanks, though.”

“How about a whoopie pie?”

Whether intentional or not, the offer was full-on sexy. Her mouth watered. “Now you’re talking.” She sat at the table beneath a big brass lamp suspended from the ceiling. Hissing cheerfully, the lamp easily illuminated the whole kitchen. The house was a mixture of the familiar and the just different enough to create the impression Jonas lived in a parallel universe. Perhaps that was the point.

He retrieved one of the chocolaty delicacies from the pantry and poured a glass of milk.

Slinging the snack like a bartender, he sat beside her. She smiled. “You have a refrigerator and hot and cold water.” His smile mingled pride and satisfaction.

“A diesel-powered pump brings well water for drinking, and we pipe wash water from the creek.” He stabbed his fork toward the ceiling. “The light runs on propane, and gas powers the hot water heater, refrigerator, and stove. When we began standing market, we bought the new stove and refrigerator. Before that, Nora did all her cooking on the Monarch.”

Following his gaze, she swiveled to the great grandmother of all kitchen stoves. It was massive and black with shiny, metal trim. Like the rest of the kitchen, it was utterly spotless.

“She still uses it to fill big orders on short notice—lots of pies, for example.” He winked.

“Don’t be cute.” Next to the stove, a hutch displayed antique, patterned china. Jelly jars, bursting with plant cuttings rooting in water, lined the immaculate countertop. Rich, russet cabinets covered the walls. Other than the dishes, the only decoration was a calendar by the sink, printed with an illustration of Jesus. She bit into the whoopie pie and moaned. “Your sister is a genius.”

Tipping back on two chair legs, he patted his belly. “Do you like it?”