“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, then shakes his head at me, like I’ve chosen to fall in love with the most grating specimen on planet Earth. On the contrary, Donnelly is the most mesmerizing earthling I’ve met thus far. I doubt anyone could trump him.
