“Stars?” Bast asks, half-grinning at the pattern. “Seriously?” They’re clearly sheets for a kid, leftover from my many summers here as an adolescent. When I see their quizzical looks, I clear my throat. “I had these when I was young. One of the housekeepers tried to get rid of them when I got older, but… the stars reminded me of Ivy and how she liked to make wishes. I couldn’t seem to get rid of them.” Bast’s shit-eating grin has me glowering. He snorts, “Oh, come on. That’s cute as hell.”
