“You’ll feel better if you eat and drink.” He glances at the plate, piled high with cheesecakes and cookies, pie and cake. “I wasn’t sure what you liked.”

“So you brought one of everything?” I ask incredulously.

He shrugs, red tingeing his cheeks. “What else can I get you? A wet washcloth for your head? Tylenol?”

“I’m fine, really!” I protest. “Just hang out. Talk to me.”

He sits across from me and picks up my hands, holding them between his. “Your hands are freezing.”

He rubs them, and slowly but surely, my fingers begin to tingle with warmth.

Confusion swirls inside me. It’s been so long since anyone’s taken care of me. Even longer—by which I mean never—that the person might one day be responsible for wiping out two-thirds of the world.

How am I supposed to feel here? What am I supposed to do?

“Um…” I cast out my mind, struggling to focus, to remember who he is and who he might become. “Are your parents here?”

I have no idea what they look like. Actually, I don’t know much about them, other than the fact that they were rumored to have bribed the guidance counselor.

“They were too busy to attend, so they sent my uncle instead.” He gently kneads my fingers between his thumb and forefinger. “Charlie’s not my real uncle, of course, but in Thai culture, you call all your parents’ close friends ‘aunties’ or ‘uncles.’”

Charlie. Finally. Confirmation that the bushy-haired man is Dad’s old lab partner.

“He was the obvious choice, since he’s a scientist, too,” Bandit continues, still massaging. “He used to be one of great renown…well, until Harvard kicked him out a few years ago.”

“How come?” I could float away on this sensation. His fingers are so capable. I wouldn’t complain if he massaged me for the rest of the night. Week. Year…

Gah! Focus, Alice. He might be the enemy. I pull my hands out of his grasp, smiling to soften the gesture.

“It’s a sore subject. We don’t talk about Charlie’s dismissal much.” Not at all insulted, Bandit kicks back in the chair. “From what I understand, he was into some really fringe stuff. Harvard didn’t approve, so they parted ways.”

Fringe stuff? My dad described his former lab partner’s research as “wild.” Sounds like a virus that could wipe out the human population to me.

As I’m pondering, Bandit picks up the cupcake and opens his mouth.

“Wait!” I yelp.

He blinks, the dessert an inch from his lips.

“Are you, uh, allergic to nuts? I’m not sure what’s in the cupcake.”

He bursts out laughing. “I thought you said it was homemade.”

“By Cristela,” I say, refusing to feel ridiculous. “Not me. You wouldn’t want a baked good by me. Unless you like burned desserts.”