The corner of Ash’s mouth quirked up in the tiniest smile.

“So, serial killing aside, why were you going to my place—Greta’s place?”

They pulled up outside the house.

“I was bringing you some things. For the cold weather.”

Truman felt the tears from earlier threaten once more. He cleared his throat and slammed the door to give himself a moment to get it together.

What was wrong with him? New Orleans was a congenial, friendly town. Why was he acting like he’d never experienced human kindness before?

The shopping bags cut into his hands even through the gloves, and he rushed to unlock the door.

“Come on in.”

Truman bustled the groceries into the kitchen, habit driving him to get the ice cream into the freezer right away. In New Orleans, it would melt on the counter in the time it took to put the rest of the groceries away. Here, he realized, he wouldn’t have that problem.

Ash followed him. He placed a thick green sweater and a heavy blue coat on the kitchen stool. “I know you can wear Greta’s stuff, but she’s smaller than you, so I thought maybe you could use this stuff. The sweater’s mine, but the coat’s my mom’s. She’s a little taller than you, but…if you want.” He shrugged.

Truman struggled out of Greta’s too-small coat. “Does your mom live on Owl Island too?” The coat was a bit too big, but Ash was so large it shouldn’t be any surprise his mom would be too. Truman zipped it up and instantly felt overheated. “Wow, thanks. This is awesome.”

“You’re welcome. And yes, she lives here.”

“Well, thank her for me.”

Something flickered over Ash’s face, but he nodded. “I will.”

Chapter 7

Truman

“Oh, good, they fit,” Ash said as Truman walked through Thorn’s door.

Truman had traded Greta’s sweater for Ash’s in case it was warmer. It certainly had nothing whatsoever to do with wondering what it would smell like. (It smelled like cedar and something bright and botanical that Truman couldn’t quite place.) He realized he’d never once worn an article of Guy’s clothing. It had been raining one day, and Truman had grabbed Guy’s jacket hanging by the door to run down the street to get them coffee, and Guy had stopped him, handing him his own instead.

Truman cringed.

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

Ash’s hair was in a messy ponytail, and there were thorns all around him. Bundles of different colored roses sat in the bucket at his feet. A soft ruff told Truman that Bruce was snoozing behind the counter. He felt like he’d stumbled into another world.

“Do you ever take breaks?” Truman asked.

“Well, not usually when we’re so busy,” Ash deadpanned.