“Raiding my pantry?” he asks Donnelly with a disapproving cock of his head. Uh-oh. “Go ahead. Help yourself to the eggs, the stale Froot Loops, the curdled milk. Don’t forget the good stuff. Rat poison, top shelf.” He flashes a half-smile. Rat poison? My mouth falls open. Donnelly grins. “Appreciate you sharing your favorite food with me, Papa Hale.” “Luna’s dad,” he corrects,
