“Cooking was like that for me. I liked keeping it secret—just between me and my granddad. It felt powerful, you know? This little thing that no one else knew about.” “And if you show it to anyone else, you’re afraid it might spoil.” “Yeah, that’s it.” “But you did—obviously. Since you cooked for me.” He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I thought I just wanted it to be a pastime, but then I decided . . . what the hell?” I looked down at the tiny bit of paint still stuck under my fingernails. “Do you regret it?” He cocked his head in thought. “Ask me in a few years.” If I find you, I thought, I
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