I force myself to move away from the window and rearrange water glasses on the tiny meeting table.

“They’re coming in together,” Melanie narrates. “Young Guy is picking up a different turtle now. He’s showing it to Old Guy, who’s mad about it. They’re walking up the path. They’re having an intense conversation. A chest poke. Can’t see them now, but they’re almost at the door— ”

“Knock, knock,” Jerry Prescott says in the doorway and I still jump. He comes inside, and Tattoo Guy leans in the doorway, an air-paddling golden bonnet tortoise in one hand and his backpack hanging heavily from the other.

“Hello, Mr. Prescott. Nice to meet you. I’m Ruthie Midona.” I weave through the tight office space to shake his hand. “I’m holding the fort in Sylvia Drummond’s absence.” I sound plummy and old-fashioned, a good solid secretary type in my cardigan and loafers. Oh man, I’m still wearing my reading glasses on their chain. And they’ve been noticed.

“Oh hey,” the young guy says with easy recognition, like we’re old friends. “I had a real interesting dream about your glasses last night.”

I decide I didn’t hear that. “And this is Melanie Sasaki, my temp.”

“Ruthie, Melanie, good to meet you both.” Jerry pumps our hands vigorously. He’s the older version of Tall, Dark, and Handsome. He has an expensive smile. To me he says, “I’ve heard a lot about you from my team back at HQ. You’re a lot younger than I expected.”

“I get that a lot.”

(Tattoo Guy grins broadly with his own expensive teeth.)

I lock eyes with him. “I have a meeting at the moment, I’m sorry.” Read: Get out of here.

“This is my son, Theodore,” Jerry says, turning to the young guy. “Come in here, introduce yourself.”

“Hello, I am this man’s son,” Theodore says obtusely, making his father frown. “I am the infant child Prescott.”

“Could you possibly take something seriously? Just once?” Jerry scolds him. “Put that turtle down, for goodness’ sake. I’m so sorry,” Jerry apologizes to us in a desperate hush as Theodore wanders back outside to release his captive.

The only explanation for this visit is that I’ve majorly messed up somehow. I audit every memory of the gas station incident. I was curt and rude to Theodore, but I’d also been called elderly. Is it against PDC rules to loan strangers money? Did I scratch his bike with the car when I pulled out?

I’m fired. That’s what this is.

I’m fired and homeless in one deft stroke, and Theodore Prescott and his hair are walking back into the office at this exact moment to see it happen. “It’s okay,” he says, reading my murder-victim body language. “No, it’s okay, Ruthie, don’t freak out.”

“Sorry, this is all a bit irregular.” Jerry laughs, false and bright, and it occurs to me that he’s nervous too. “We’re just dropping in to see how things are going here.”

“Would you like to sit?” I gesture to the tiny round table and fill water glasses. Theodore hands one to me like he’s concerned.

Melanie sits and pelvic-thrusts her office chair over to the table. “I’ll take notes.” In a sparkly notebook, mentally eating popcorn. Her brown eyes flit to Theodore approximately once every five seconds, chipping away at segments of him until she’s seen everything available. It is deeply annoying, because I wish I could do that too.

“I like that one.” Melanie points to a tattoo on his arm. “That’s a dai-dōrō, right? A Japanese stone lantern,” she explains to me and Jerry. “They’re really beautiful when they’re lit up at night.”

Theodore replies, “This one never lights up, no matter what I try. Are you Japanese?”

“Half,” Melanie says, warming to the subject (herself). “My dad is from Kyoto and my mom met him when— ” She falls silent when she feels my glare. “Sorry. Back to business.” She writes today’s date. I have the strangest thought: She doesn’t know about that rose on the back of his arm. That one’s mine. And I bet his lantern glows all night.

“I’m sure you must be wondering what all this is about,” Jerry says.

“I think I know,” I reply, and I make prolonged, unblinking eye contact with his son for the first time.

Theodore Prescott has:

•Hazel eyes

•Little-kid freckles across the bridge of his nose

•A lot of empathy in his expression, for a thoughtless jerk

He says, “You’ve scared her shitless, Dad.”

I explain myself. “At the gas station, I was just doing my good deed for the day.”

“What does she mean, gas station? What did you do?” Jerry turns on his son, his voice taking on the kind of growl-tone you’d use on your golden retriever that’s standing in the dirt of an upturned indoor plant. Theodore is clearly used to it; dopey grin, tail wag.

I must be charitable, because I try to cover for the younger Prescott. “I was filling one of the residents’ cars with gas for them. I thought maybe, from an insurance point of view, I shouldn’t have driven it.”

Theodore won’t allow me to take the fall. “She happened to find me in a tight spot and loaned me twenty bucks for fuel. Dad, you are looking at my Good Samaritan.” I can read the word printed across the knuckles on his left hand: TAKE.

“Teddy, you can’t ask total strangers for money.” Jerry is horrified. “You should have called me earlier. What if someone knew you’re a Prescott?”

“Teddy,” Melanie echoes in childlike wonder. She writes it in her notepad, repeating like a magic spell, “Teddy Prescott.”

“What? Don’t I look like a Teddy?” He’s got humor in his eyes now, and that question is for me. I doubt he has it in him to be serious for more than thirty seconds at a time. He prompts me gently, “Well?”

Does he look like a Teddy? “Uh …”

I actually have a stuffed bear from my childhood called Teddy in my room right now. They both have a lot of experience sitting on girls’ beds. Bright-eyed, adorable creations made for hugging and finding in your sheets in the morning. The spark in Teddy’s eyes intensifies; he’s biting his lip, holding the laugh in. I brush some hair away from my face; my cheek is hot.

Melanie can be relied upon for honest feedback. “Teddy is silly, you’re too old. What about Theo instead?” She’s wrong. When I’m faced with that alternative, it suits him down to the ground.

“He’s been my little bear since he was a baby,” Jerry says, making his adult son dissolve with embarrassment. It’s luscious to witness this moment. “But yes. He’s too old for a lot of things now. Definitely time for a haircut.”

(Melanie writes down, little bear = baby Teddy, in her notepad, and now it’s me who’s trying not to laugh.)

“But girls love my long hair.” If he released his bun, Melanie and I would be blinded, but it’s irritating that he knows it. His eyes flick back to me like a reflex, and I realize he wants to know if I agree. He’s messing around with me. Am I a Teddy? Am I irresistible? I huff and straighten up in my seat.