"I promise, she doesn't bite," he jokes, squeezing Demetri's hands. Unlike my Aunt, he thinks, but leaves the thought unspoken. He tugs Demetri forward and leads him through the woods, to an opening in which his childhood home, a modestly sized cottage, waits for them beneath the moonlight and the flickering porch light by the front door. They walk to the front door, Fabrice still clinging to both the food and Demetri's hands, before they pause again. "Ready?"