Mahonia grinned as she took the card and tucked it into a pocket. “That’s very nice. I’m not hiring now, but maybe someday soon. Now, enjoy your chocolate, Ash.”

  And he did. The churros were perfectly crisp, and the chocolate, which was almost as thick as pudding, had a bit of a cayenne kick. It wasn’t overly sweet and was both delicious and incredibly satisfying. He’d be skipping dinner tonight.

  Usually when Ash sat in coffeehouses, he used his laptop or at least his phone, but tonight he felt no urge to take them out. Instead he nibbled until the churros were gone, and then he sipped while gazing idly at the cat and the plants and the magazines on the rack. The covers were all very colorful, mostly with images of food or nature scenes, but the words were all in a language he didn’t recognize.

  Mahonia kept busy with tasks behind the counter or in a back room, and the two younger women seemed deep in quiet conversation, but the man stared at Ash. There was nothing hostile or lascivious in his scrutiny, and it didn’t feel rude. He just seemed to find Ash interesting, much as Ash felt about the cat, who was currently having a bath on the windowsill.

  Just as Ash was finishing his chocolate, the man stood and approached him. “Do you mind if I join you for a few minutes?”

  It was a weird request, but the treat had put him in a mellow mood. Ash shrugged. “Sure.”

  The guy sat opposite him. “Thanks. I’m Sam Bucus.” His accent was very similar to Mahonia’s.

  “Ash.”

  “I know.” For some reason, Sam appeared amused. Maybe he just had that type of face, with sparkling eyes and a perpetually happy expression. “Do you like cats?”

  “Um, yeah. Sure.” In fact, Ash had always wanted one, but his mother was allergic, Silas was opposed to any indoor animals, and Ash was away from home too much to be fair to a pet.

  “Nep approved you, and he’s a good judge of character. So that’s a good sign.”

  It took a moment for Ash to figure out that Nep was the cat’s name, and then he focused on the second part of Sam’s statement. “A good sign for what?”

  “That the band will accept you.”

  “The… band?” Ash looked around, half expecting people with drums and guitars to appear out of nowhere. Not that he had any idea why they’d want to accept him. His musical talents were minimal, limited to whatever he might recall from playing the recorder in fourth grade and remembering most of the lyrics from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Anyway, no musicians appeared.

  Sam smiled placidly. “Yes, the band.”

  “And, uh, why does this band need to accept me?”

  “It’s the rule, of course. Can’t join us unless everyone agrees. But Nep likes you and so do I, and I’m pretty sure Mahonia does too. So that’s a good start. Pollys, what about you?”

  That last part was apparently aimed at the pair of young women.

  “Seems fine,” said one of them, and the other nodded. Neither was looking Ash’s way.

  Sam seemed pleased, however. “See? No objections so far. That’s Polly Podium and Polly Stichum, by the way.”

  It occurred to Ash at this point that maybe Mahonia had put something stronger than cayenne in his chocolate, but he didn’t truly feel high. Just confused. Even in a city proud of its weirdness, this café seemed exceptionally odd. Still, he liked it. His snack had been outstanding and Sam was pleasant, even if somewhat incomprehensible.

  “What would happen if there were objections?” Ash asked.

  “Oh, it depends. If there were a lot of strong ones, well, that would be the end of that. Which would be really hard on Clay, but that’s the way things go. If there were only a few minor objections, though, there would be meetings.” Sam sighed dramatically. “Lots of meetings. Clay could argue his case, and then we’d vote. That could turn out okay, although historically those things have been pretty iffy. The queen gets the final say, of course.”

  Ash peered at him. “What case? Queen? And who’s Clay?”

  “Clay Tonia, of course.” As if this explained everything, Sam stood and held out his hand. “It was nice to meet you, Ash. I’ll be making a positive report.”

  They shook hands, Sam waved at Mahonia and the Pollys, and then he left the café. No jacket, so he was going to be cold and wet, but maybe his car was parked out front. Ash waited for a little while to see if someone would enlighten him as to the meaning of the conversation with Sam. But the Pollys spoke only to each other, Mahonia was wiping things down behind the counter, and Nep had tucked himself into a tight circle and appeared to be asleep.

  With a slight sense of regret, Ash gathered his things and walked to the cash register. It was one of the big, old-fashioned sort that rang satisfyingly when in use. Wiping her hands on a towel, Mahonia wandered over. “Did you enjoy?”

  “I did. The chocolate and churros were delicious. I like your café too.”

  Her broad smile suggested that his words pleased her. “So we’ll see you here again?”

  “I hope so.” When the silence between them grew a little awkward, he cleared his throat. “Um, how much do I owe you?”

  “It’s my gift to you. Although….” She frowned pensively for a moment. “Yes, I think that would be safer. Ash, may I ask a favor of you in exchange for your food?”

  That was definitely weird, and he was apprehensive about what favor she might ask. But he was also curious, and that won out. “Sure?”

  From one of the glass jars, she removed a cookie—oatmeal raisin, he guessed—and set it on a plate. “Will you carry this to the Pollys, please?”

  Even weirder. But he took the plate and walked it over. The Pollys had evidently been following the conversation, and one of them took the plate from him with a satisfied-looking nod, then made a little shooing movement with her free hand. He returned to Mahonia.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “That’s… it?”

  “As long as you’ve performed a service, that should suffice.”

  Now he knew how Alice had felt after falling down the rabbit hole. He wouldn’t have been very surprised if Nep the cat had disappeared, his smile the last to go. He tried for some semblance of normality. “Do you have a tip jar?”

  “No, honey.”

  Okay. So apparently she didn’t want his money and there was no catch. Maybe this was all part of a scheme to make sure he became a return customer, but if so, he didn’t mind. It was a benign scheme. He thanked her, put on his coat, shouldered his backpack, and left the café.

  He’d spent more time than he’d realized in Mahonia’s, and windows glowed warmly in the houses he passed. Quite a few people had decorated for Christmas, and even the reflections of brake lights on the wet road seemed festive. Maybe he’d put up some decorations this year. He had a menorah tucked away somewhere, possibly with a box of candles. When he was a kid, his parents used to help him make garlands of paper dreidels and Stars of David; he could try his hand at that again. Zeke might even be willing to participate. He wasn’t Jewish, but he generally seemed enthusiastic about anything involving craft supplies.

  He rather quickly reached the house and climbed the stairs to his apartment, pausing for a moment before going in. If it weren’t for the warm fullness in his belly, Ash might have thought he’d imagined the entire experience at Mahonia’s. Imagined Mahonia’s itself, even. But he could still taste chocolate and cinnamon on his lips.

  And then he saw that a new item had joined the basket on the little table outside his door. A scarf, woven from a dizzying variety of fibers: thick gold-colored wool, shiny blue silk, a creamy cotton. Somehow the whole was harmonious, however, and when he experimentally wrapped it around his neck, it felt like a comfortable hug. One of Zeke’s creations? Maybe. But Ash had the irrational certainty that the scarf had been woven specifically for him.

  Three

  IT WAS a long week, without any chance to stop at Mahonia’s or any time for creating Hanukkah décor. Mostly Ash just worked, ate, and slept. He had found placements for several clients. One of them, a young father who’d dropped out of ninth grade, even sent Ash a handwritten letter thanking him for his help.

  I love my job at the care home. Now I can buy my daughter Xmas presents, it said. And I’m getting my GED next spring. Someday I want to be a nurse.

  So Ash felt gratified but exhausted, and by the time the weekend rolled around, he looked forward to spending the two days cocooned in his apartment with a fuzzy blanket, a novel, and a lot of junk food. All of which seemed like a reasonable plan until Saturday afternoon, when he realized that his cupboards were bare. With an aggrieved sigh, he bundled up, grabbed his shopping bags, and ventured out into a blustery day.

  Ash was perfectly satisfied with not having a car, most of the time. He liked walking, many of the things he needed were close by, and in a pinch he could take a bus or Lyft. Grocery shopping, however, was sort of a pain. Although several grocery stores lay within a convenient one-mile radius of his home, schlepping the food back home wasn’t much fun, especially when the weather was miserable. He almost turned around on the front porch and went back inside. But he was sort of jonesing for potato chips, and besides, his new scarf was proving to be remarkably warm.

  “Onward,” he said and descended the porch stairs.

  He didn’t mind rain. He was, after all, a native Oregonian. But instead of mist or light drizzle, this was huge droplets that came at him sideways and felt only a fraction of a degree warmer than freezing. He lowered his head and hoped the city didn’t get ice or snow, either of which would shut everything down and potentially cause power outages. Maybe all the more reason to get his grocery shopping done now, before the apocalypse descended.

  As he trudged, he suddenly remembered a December when he was nine or ten. Hanukkah had come early that year—before the school’s winter break—which meant Ash was stuck in class all day instead of at home reading the new Lemony Snicket books his parents had given him. But then one morning just before lunch, he’d been called to the school office—a terrifying event until he arrived there and discovered his grinning parents. It turned out that they’d called in sick to work and had lied to the school secretary, claiming Ash had a dentist appointment that afternoon. Instead, they bundled him into the car, made another stop at the high school for his brother and sister, and then headed up to Mount Hood, where the five of them spent the rest of the day playing in the snow.

  Although his parents had died over four years ago, the loss still felt fresh and raw. Today, however, as Ash thought about the magical day when they’d all played hooky, he felt warm inside.

  Fred Meyer was crowded, probably due to everyone hoping to stock up on food before worse weather set in. There were no plastic shopping baskets to be found, just a few forlorn-looking carts. The one Ash chose had a squeaky wheel and was badly out of alignment, but he doggedly steered it up and down the aisles, avoiding people and other obstacles as he went. He got Maui onion potato chips, some sliced turkey, a package of rolls from the bakery, and a premixed salad—which he might actually eat instead of allowing its sad decline and messy death in the misnomered crisper drawer. He also picked up a couple of cans of soup and a few bananas. Somewhat guiltily, he added a box of chocolate-frosted mini donuts.

  He could have used more food than that but wasn’t willing to carry it through the miserable weather. This would get him past the weekend at least, and maybe he’d do another trip after work someday next week.

  He was stalled in the drinks aisle, contemplating whether to add a bottle of juice to his cargo, when someone rammed into his cart, causing it to collide forcefully with his toe. Ash was fully prepared to glare in indignation—until he caught sight of his assailant.

  He was stunning.

  A cloud of unruly dark curls apparently hadn’t seen a comb in some time; there were even a few small leaves and tiny petals caught among the ringlets. He had a somewhat rounded face, and his skin was a warm tawny tone with patches of high color on his cheeks.

  He looked utterly horrified.

  “I am so sorry!” He clutched his empty cart as if for dear life. “I wasn’t paying attention. Are you all right?”

  Ash was too busy cataloging details to respond: eyes an odd blue that was nearly violet, a broad nose, plump pink lips. Coatless, he wore a light gray sweater—the kind with intricate knitted knotwork—that sported a few stray leaves and twiglets, as if he’d just stepped out of the woods. His pants were tan, made of some nubby fabric that Ash couldn’t identify, the hems tucked into bright-blue rubber boots imprinted with yellow and white flowers. His entire look was eccentric and so charming that Ash wanted to swoon.

  The man had spoken with a slight accent that seemed familiar, even though Ash couldn’t quite place it.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  Realizing that the man looked almost ready to cry, Ash shook himself out of his stupor and managed a smile. “No, no, I’m fine.” And he was, although he felt a little as if he’d just been struck by lightning. “Don’t worry about it.”

  The man seemed to relax a little. “I’m not used to driving these. I’m not very good at it.” He gave his cart a slight push.

  “I was sort of blocking the aisle, and I was spacing out. It’s as much my fault as yours. Anyway, no harm done.”

  “All right. I am sorry, though.”

  They stood there for a few moments, smiling. It should have felt awkward but didn’t, and it wasn’t anything like the light flirting Ash occasionally enjoyed with strangers. This was just… nice. Ash suspected he might like this man very much if he had the chance to get to know him.

  “Are you, uh, new to the area?” A dumb question, but the guy had said something about not being accustomed to using his shopping cart. Maybe the stores wherever he came from used a different type. Anyway, Ash felt as if he ought to say something.

  “Oh, no,” the man replied with a laugh. “I’ve lived around here for a very long time.”

  “Ah. But… maybe you’re new to Freddy’s? Can I help you find something? I shop here pretty often, so I know where most stuff is.” Oh God. That sounded like the world’s worst pickup line followed by the world’s most pathetic brag.

  But the man didn’t appear put off. In fact, his grin widened. “You are very kind. I knew it.”

  Perhaps Ash would have thought of something brilliant to say, or maybe he would have worked up the courage to ask whether the man would like to have coffee. But just then an elderly woman with a cart full of baking supplies and a determined expression came barreling down the aisle, and somehow she swept the man and his cart along with her. He looked back at Ash from the very end of the aisle, where his return was blocked by a man with three small children.

  “The scarf looks good on you!” he called before disappearing around the corner.

  Ash was halfway home, his thoughts still firmly stuck in the grocery store encounter, when he finally recognized the man’s accent. It was the same as Mahonia’s and Sam’s.

  AFTER UNEARTHING his menorah from a box in the bedroom closet, Ash spent the rest of Saturday cocooned with snack foods and HBO. He went to bed early and dreamed about being lost in a forest. In the dream, he wasn’t alarmed that he couldn’t find his way home but was instead intrigued with the weird flora and fauna he encountered. There were trees straight out of Dr. Seuss, flowers in colors and patterns never seen in nature, buzzing bees the size of pigeons, bright beetles as big as toy poodles, and birds that trilled eighties synth-pop tunes.

  Maybe he’d eaten too many chocolate donuts before bedtime.

  Although he wasn’t scared in the dream, he was searching for something; when he woke up, he couldn’t remember what. It had been important, however. He was sure of that much.

  As he stumbled around the kitchen in sweats and a frowsy bathrobe, trying to assemble a brunch healthy enough to offset the donuts, he glanced out the window and gasped. Snow! It hadn’t been in the forecast, and Portland rarely got the stuff, but now it covered the ground and adorned the trees like frosting. The sun was out too, making the backyard sparkle. It looked like a wonderland, as magical as the weird forest in his dream.

  Forsaking food and ditching the robe, Ash pulled on thick socks, his new scarf, and his warmest coat. Then he laced up the waterproof hiking boots he kept on the landing outside his door. Giggling like a little kid, he thundered down the stairs, dashed through a hall, and flung himself out the back door at full speed.

  Snow! It crunched underfoot and filled his nose with its unique scent. Not caring whether any of the neighbors were watching—likely aghast—he collapsed onto his back and made a snow angel. Then he hopped up and began gathering a base for a snowman.

  He’d gotten the thing nearly complete when he realized that he was ravenous. Apparently this was hungry work. He patted the snowman’s head. “I’ll be back out soon to finish you up. I bet I can even find a carrot for your nose.”

  Ash practically skipped inside, nearly colliding with Zeke, who was standing just inside the back door. “Snow!” Ash announced happily, as if Zeke had somehow failed to notice.

  “Yep. Whole city’s shut down, which would be an utter disaster if it weren’t a Sunday. I hear folks are skiing down Belmont Street. Now come on in here and warm up.”

  Zeke shooed Ash, unprotesting, into the downstairs apartment, where they were greeted by the heavenly scents of chocolate and cheese. Ash left his outerwear near the door and joined Zeke and Troy in their cheery kitchen with the brightly tiled backsplash and the potted herbs crowded on the windowsill.

  “Sit, sit.” Troy pointed at a kitchen chair with his spatula.

  “What’s the occasion?” Ash asked as he made himself comfortable. He liked his landlords’ apartment, which was slightly cluttered but in a good way, filled with things like family photos and clumsy clay sculptures their grandchildren had made.