Gavin led her into the backyard, which was huge and green and ripe with lush trees. Ruby apples hung from heavy branches. Tangerine, cherry, plum, and peach trees were thick with fruit and planted to create a small, delicious forest beside a shed.
Here the lawn was also perfect, soft and springy under her shoes. “What’s wrong with the front lawn?” she asked, remembering.
Gavin laughed. “The twins. I think Dead Lawn does it to piss off Alive. But that’s just a guess.”
Of course it was, Delilah thought. There wasn’t exactly any way for him to ask, or for them to answer.
“I have about a million questions.”
“I’m surprised you only have that many.” He led her farther back, into one of the small sheds, saying, “Come in here. She’s cool.”
She wanted to ask how on earth he knew the shed was a she or the lawns were twins or the house was worried for Delilah’s reaction, but when she saw the shed, she understood. The walls were softly curved, the wood smelling faintly of fruit tree blossoms. Gavin stepped aside after opening the door, letting her walk in ahead of him.
Delilah wasn’t sure what she expected, but it certainly wasn’t this. A shed, to her mind, was meant to be dusty and a place where old garden tools go to be forgotten and grow crusty with spiderwebs. This shed was nothing like that. The floors were shiny and pristine, the two small windows crystal-gleaming. Two walls were lined with shelves stacked high with jarred fruit, vegetables, and sauces. Another wall had a sink, a small stove, and several drawers with polished brass knobs. A blue sofa was tucked beneath the larger window and a stack of books rested nearby on the floor. Without having to ask, Delilah knew that Gavin spent a lot of time out here.
“Who made the jars of food?”
“Shed,” he answered, confused.
Delilah looked up in time to catch his curious smile. “How is that even possible?”
He opened one of the drawers near the stove and pulled out a couple of random utensils: a peeler, a slotted spoon, a beautiful knife with an ivory handle. “She uses utensils.” Delilah wanted to know how, but before she could ask, he said, “Do you want to take some fruit home?”
The space grew noticeably warmer, and Delilah felt her eyes widen, looking instinctively to the window in search of an aggressive ray of sun.
“It’s warm because she wants you to take some.”
Nodding politely, Delilah took the jars of peaches and plums when Gavin handed them over.
“These, too,” he said, tucking a jar of tiny pickles between her forearm and ribs. Delilah looked down at them, half expecting them to wiggle a little hello from behind the glass, but they were as still as any other collection of pickles. “They’re my favorites.”
“Is this place your favorite place to be?”
“It’s one of them.”
“What are some others?”
“Kitchen. My room.” He shrugged and then added, “I love playing Piano, but Dining Room is a nightmare sometimes.”
She lifted her eyebrows in silent question.
“He’s a bit of a hermit and keeps it really cold so that I don’t like being in there.”
He led her back outside, and Delilah felt as if she’d stepped off a boat: a little wobbly, her stomach flipping at the sturdiness of the earth beneath her feet.
“You okay?” Gavin’s hand came around her upper arm, warm, long fingers curling deliciously over her skin. The sensation of falling heightened until she swayed, leaning in to him and wondering if a part of her did it intentionally, because once his arms were fully around her, she felt perfect. Cocooned and stable, but—unfortunately—desperate for a kiss.
They lay down on a patch of grass beneath a cherry tree. The sun shone through in tiny bursts, and Delilah managed to position her head to avoid getting a sunbeam in the eye. It also meant that her head rested against Gavin’s shoulder.
“You can ask me more questions,” he said. “I’m sure you’re a little overwhelmed.”
She nodded, and she knew he felt it because he leaned a little closer to her. The feeling that took over was how Delilah imagined it would be if someone flushed hot water through her veins.