“You’re here.” He shakes his head once, twice, as though I’m a mirage in the archipelagos of the Mediterranean.

“I know it’s unexpected…” I begin.

“Forget that.” He touches my elbow, his fingers lingering. “Come in.”

Abruptly, he turns and walks inside the house. I follow him down a wood-paneled hallway, into a spacious kitchen with stainless steel appliances and an island with a marbled green countertop. The sun drifts in through several oversize windows, casting everything in a warm, cheerful glow.

Bandit grabs a T-shirt from a chair and pulls it on. At least I can look at him now.

After he’s dressed, he heads to the induction stove and stirs a pot. The aromas of fried garlic and fish sauce waft around me, and my stomach grumbles. Yikes! I press my hand against it, hoping Bandit doesn’t notice, but he just laughs.

“You want breakfast?” he asks.

I flush. “You don’t have to feed me. I heard you were sick, and I wanted to see how you were doing. Help you the way you, uh, helped me. I got your address from your friend Anthony at the car wash.”

My words are simple. Basic. They’re all my tangled-up tongue can handle. But Bandit blinks as though I’ve confessed to discovering the last number of pi. “Really? That’s why you’re here?”

“Yep. Cue the stalker jokes.” I cross my arms, bracing myself for his ego. But he just stares wordlessly, and I drop my arms. “What? No witty remarks?”

“No,” he says, his eyes solemn. “That’s really nice of you, Alice. No one’s ever visited me because I was sick before.”

“Oh, come on.” I’m more than faintly disgusted with myself now. The self-revulsion roars to the surface: liar, liar, LIAR. And yet…I do care about him. My worry is genuine, no matter the true motivation for my call. “I’m sure your parents would visit, but, you know. You live with them.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it.” He moves his shoulders. On Bandit, even a shrug looks elegant.

He ladles boiled rice into a bowl. “In Thai cuisine, each person seasons to their own taste. But my friends get a little overwhelmed at the thought, since they haven’t grown up doing it. May I?” His formal tone unnerves me. This is a Bandit like I’ve never known, outside of a few concerned moments last night. But I was so freaked out by the Voice controlling my body that I didn’t take proper notice of the shift.

I nod. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

Lalana always seasons my food at her house. She knows exactly how I like my noodles, too. Dry, without broth. Heavy on the vinegar, light on the sugar, just a dash of red chili flakes.