“Hi. Sorry to interrupt.”

“No worries.” He glanced at the dogs busy licking each other’s faces. “We’ve kept the lovers apart.”

“Clearly, we have to do better there.”

“How about I put them in the backyard, give them more privacy?”

“Sure, but I don’t want to keep you. You’re probably working.”

“I’ll get back to it. Let’s go, lovebirds.”

He led the way out and through the back door, where the dogs bulleted to race around the lawn.

“Want a drink? Coke, water, juice box?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

The kitchen looked like family, she thought. The calendar on the fridge with the month’s schedule, the corkboard where he’d pinned kid art, some business cards, the almost-depleted bowl of fruit on the counter.

“I haven’t seen you since the memorial,” she began, “and there were a couple of things I wanted to talk to you about.”

“How are you doing?”

“Okay. Okay, really. When Nonna died, I’d only actually visited. Extended visits a lot of times, but visits. I missed her, but I was more worried for him. Then I lived here. More than two years. Some mornings I get up, start thinking if it’s my turn to drive him to work, or expect to smell his morning coffee when I go down to the kitchen. Then I remember.”

“I still expect to see him behind the counter at Rizzo’s half the time. He was an elemental part of a lot of lives.”

“He was that. I wanted to tell you … I know I thanked you for all the help you gave me, for being there, right there. But I wanted you to know how much what you said meant. You said he’d lived a long, beautiful, generous life. And the fates had let him slip out of it lovingly. It helped, in that awful moment, to hear that. But more, I play those words back when I need them, and they get me through. Everything else, making those calls for me, holding my hand when I called my mother, all that mattered. But the words, they’re forever.”

“And now I’ve run out of them.”

“I couldn’t think then, but I have since. Why were you there? Right at the moment we needed you to be?”

“I’d stopped by to show you a mock-up of the Flame novel.”

“It’s done?”

“Yeah. And it was, basically. I put a mock-up together, and since I based her look on you, I brought it by.”

“Do you still have it?”

“Sure.”

“Can I see it now?”

“Sure,” he said again. “It’s in my office.”

She went with him, and as he went around his workstation to open a file drawer, she scanned the sketches on his wall, his board.

“You’re working on another No One story. And!” She moved closer. “Pitting him against Divina the Sorceress. I love it. They have that crackle of sexual tension even as they try to destroy each other. This is different.”

She shifted over, tapping another sketch. “Like a glass fortress? Not glass,” she corrected. “Some sort of transparent, impenetrable material, right? Very, very cool. Is it an island? It looks like an island. Yes, an island. With a volcano! Who doesn’t love a volcano?”

She turned to where he stood watching her, completely bemused. “It’s an HQ, right? Gotta be the good guys, because transparent. Tell me you’re finally forming a heroes team. You’re doing your Avengers, your Justice League.”

“Front Guard. The Front Guard.”

“The Front Guard.” She said it softly, with some reverence. “That’s perfect. Forging their strengths, aligning their missions, coalescing their powers to become allies against evil.”

“We might actually want to use that.”

“There’ll be friction, have to have it. And Violet Queen and Snow Raven have tangled before in Queen’s Gambit.”

“Holy shit.” Dazzled, Raylan could only stare.

“But Snow Raven and No One teamed up well in No Quarter, and the follow-up, All In. Will Cobalt Flame be a member? Will they trust her enough?”

“We figure True Angel will sponsor her, and after some debate, she’ll get a probationary membership. You really do read them.”

“I like the struggle—the emotional one—and the battles. Good against evil, the loneliness of living a dual life, risking all. And I like what Uncle Ben told Peter. ‘With great power comes great responsibility.’”

She spotted the book in his hand. “Is that it?”

He handed it to her, had to grin when she bounced on her toes.

“Oh my God, this is so utterly cool.”

“It’s just a mock-up, cheaper paper and binding.”

“It’s amazing. It’s wonderful.” Carefully, she paged through. “She looks so lonely and tormented when she’s alone, then she’s vivid, just magnificent riding her dragon. And look at the contrast between her and Angel. It’s more than physical.”

She looked up. “I’m totally fangirling, Raylan, but your art is just amazing.”

“Hey, would you like to live in my office and repeat that hourly?”

“Those of us who are good at what we do, and work at it, know we’re good at what we do. So we keep working at it.” On a sigh, she held the book back out to him. “Thanks for letting me see.”

“You can keep it.”

“I can …” She punched his arm. “Really?”

“Yes.” Gingerly, he rubbed his arm. “You’re very strong.”

“Hot damn! Sign it, sign it, sign it.”

“I will if you don’t punch me again.”

“Since I’ve complimented your art—sincerely,” she said as he chose a red marker, “there’s another thing I wanted to talk to you about. The youth center’s on schedule, and we’re looking to have it fully opened by September. Part of what we hope to offer is various demonstrations and hands-on lessons. Crafting, sports, music—Monroe’s our go-to there—dance, art. I’m hoping to draft you to give some time when you can to demonstrate, teach art and illustration.”

“I can do that.”

“Well, that was easy.”

“My partners and I did that sort of thing now and then for local schools and fairs, career days. It’s fun—and we found one of our summer interns that way last year.”

“Then you’re definitely hired. We plan to pay with great appreciation and hearty handshakes.”

“That meets my usual fee in this area.”

“Thanks, Raylan.” She took the book back, actually hugged it. “And thanks for this. Last thing, and I’ll get out of your way. I’m going to start the Rizzo dinner tradition again. The house needs people in it. How about you and the kids test my solo culinary skills on Friday?”

“That sounds … Forgot. My mom’s got them Friday. They negotiated a movie marathon sleepover. I am not invited.”

“Oh, well. Just you then? Unless you want to bask in the quiet and alone, which Teesha tells me is better than champagne and caviar.”

“I don’t get the caviar thing,” he mused. “I’m Tom Hanks in Big on the caviar. Anyway, ah, sure. A free meal I don’t have to cook?”