Mason nodded. He was more earnest-looking this close. In the daylight. (And he’d already seemed pretty earnest in the dark.) “Yeah, DC just felt too far, after everything. And my apartment seemed so small . . . So I bought a house in Omaha. My brother says I got ripped off, but it’s palatial compared to what I could afford back east. I feel like a Major League Baseball player.”

Reagan laughed. This was a lot of laughing. “Did you quit your job?”

“No. I’m still remote.”

“Me, too.”

“That’s good.” He frowned. “I mean, is that good?”

“It’s what I wanted,” she said.

“Well then, good.” He took another bite of Jell-O salad. He had the pan in his lap. “I’m eating a lot of this, is that okay?”

“God, yeah,” she said, “my nieces and nephews won’t touch it. They say dessert shouldn’t be salty.”

“Okay,” he said with his mouth full, “well, one, this isn’t a dessert; it’s a salad. And, two, the saltiness is the best part.”

“You can have as much as you want,” she said.

“I will.”

Reagan smiled—then bit both her lips for a second. “Was, um . . . was everything okay last year?”

Mason looked up into her eyes. “Last year? You mean . . .”

“With your family,” she said. “Your brother coming into the house.”

“Oh, yeah.” He shook his head. “It was fine. I mean, of course it was, right? What were the chances?”

She nodded. “Did you get vaccinated?”

“Fuck yeah,” he said. “I don’t care if it makes me grow another leg. I was first in line.”

Reagan nodded some more. “Yeah, same.”

“Give me some of that hot, fresh gene therapy,” Mason went on, chewing. “I mean . . . hopefully we don’t all grow extra legs . . .”

“Yeah,” Reagan agreed. “Hopefully. If we all die, the only people left will be these shitheads.” She waved her spoon around. Indicating half the county and both her brothers.

“That’s a little harsh,” he said.

I’m a little harsh, she thought.

Mason was smiling up at her. “I always thought you had red hair. In high school.”

“I did,” she said. “I stopped dyeing it last year. I didn’t want to do it myself, and then I just got used to this color.”

“That’s your natural hair color?”

She nodded.

“It’s great,” he said, still smiling that chipmunky smile. “It’s exactly the color of wildflower honey.”

“Dirty blonde?”

He shook his head, but he looked more amused than anything. “Harsh . . .”

“Mason,” Reagan said, more serious. Her eyebrows were low, and she’d squared her shoulders. “Last year. I’m sorry that I—”

“Hey. It’s okay. You don’t have to—”

“No, I want to—”

“Reagan.” His voice was gentle. His whole posture was gentle. “It was just a moment in the woods, right?”

“What?”

“You know, the Sondheim musical?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”