And then I remember his diary entry. I may not know where my mom is, but at least we’re on the same planet. His mom is out of the picture for some reason, and this is who he lives with now. Why?

A heaviness fills up my center. I love his name. It makes me think of strong layers of bricks and stone. Someone who has survived a lot. And, yes, I’m projecting a lot onto this tiny moment of staring at his admittedly beautiful face.

“Let’s sit, Mason, Nova,” Simon says. Mason all but lunges for the seat across from me, with Nova trailing in reluctantly behind him. Simon sits on the far side, across from my mom.

Mason is staring at me. Hard. But even more intense is my mom’s gaze on me.

She leans into me and whispers into my ear, “You two have really never met before?” Just once I’d like for something to get past her.

“How could I have?” I whisper back. “We’ve only been here for a few days.”

Simon passes out the stack of menus. “Teens, order whatever you want. Here’s our server now.” I drop my gaze to the menu, but the words are swimming in front of me. I somehow manage to order French toast, and once our server has left, my mom shifts her focus to Simon.

“Shall we get started?” Mom asks. “I’d love to hear your thoughts.”

“Absolutely,” Simon says, pulling a laptop from his bag and sliding it toward my mom. “I’ve made a good start on the listing, and I have the contact information of several companies that I think can help you with the estate sale.”

His words make my stomach sink—my mom isn’t kidding about selling the house. Even though I’ve only spent a total of forty minutes in the house, I can’t stand the thought of it being sold, all those treasures disappearing into other people’s homes. I force away the image of all those magical rooms and the ease I’d felt there.

And then I feel Mason’s hand on mine. His arm is resting casually on the table, his hand brushing against my wrist like he’s testing that I’m real. That tiny touch sets all of my nerve receptors on edge. He has smooth, wide fingernails, and I see a trail of familiar handwriting up his arm and into his sleeve.

I feel like I’ve just stepped into the center of an electrical storm.

“Please don’t tell,” I say under my breath as my mom and Simon launch themselves into a deep conversation. I’m not looking at him, and my voice is tiny, but I see him nod out of the corner of my eye.