Ding dong.

  She walked to the door and opened it.

  Standing on the porch was a woman. Middle aged, kind face and holding a clipboard.

  "Hi!" the woman beamed. "I'm Sarah! From 4B! I saw the lights on and thought I'd catch you before you headed out."

  Aryan appeared behind Wanda, his hair damp from his shower, wearing a fresh t-shirt.

  "Good morning," he said, stepping up beside her.

  "Oh!" Sarah's eyes widened. "I didn't realize... I thought this was the bachelor pad! Mr. Spencer, right?"

  "Aryan," he corrected smoothly. "And this is Wanda."

  "Well, it's lovely to see a couple in here!" Sarah gushed. "The last guy who lived here was a taxidermist. Kept the blinds closed. Very spooky."

  Wanda didn't deny it. She felt Aryan's warm presence next to her.

  Couple, she thought. Yes. We are.

  "What can we do for you, Sarah?" Aryan asked.

  "Right! The clipboard!" Sarah tapped it with a pen. "We're having a block party tonight! A 'Welcome Back' celebration. You know, for everyone who... returned. It's at the town square gazebo. 5 PM. Music, food and minimal crying… that's the rule!"

  She handed Wanda a flyer. It was bright yellow with Comic Sans font.

  "We'd love for you two to come," Sarah said. "It's a great way to meet the rest of the neighborhood. And show off that you're not taxidermists."

  Wanda looked at the flyer.

  Then she looked at Aryan. He was looking at her, waiting for her cue.

  "We would love to come," Wanda said, surprising herself.

  "Fantastic!" Sarah clapped. "Bring a dish if you can! See you at five!"

  She waved and walked away.

  Wanda closed the door. She looked at Aryan.

  "A party," she said.

  "A party," he repeated. "With minimal crying. That's a high bar for this town."

  "We need to cook," Wanda decided. "We need to bring something... impressive."

  "Impressive?" Aryan grinned. "Wanda, we have a spice rack that defies the laws of physics. We're going to ruin the curve for everyone else."

  …

  The kitchen became a flurry of activity.

  "Okay," Aryan said, tying on his apron (the plain blue one, because Wanda had claimed the daisy one). "It's a potluck. That means finger food. Portable and delicious."

  "Pastries," Wanda suggested. "Savory ones."

  "Yes. Like... Puffs? Spinach and feta puffs?"

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  "With caramelized onions," she added.

  "You read my mind."

  They worked in tandem. Wanda chopped the onions. Aryan rolled the pastry dough.

  "So," he said, dusting flour onto the counter. "What are we wearing? It's a social debut. We can't show up looking like we just rolled out of bed. Even though we did."

  Wanda smiled. She had been waiting for this.

  "We have the clothes," she reminded him. "From yesterday."

  "The maroon turtleneck?" he asked, pausing. "Is it a turtleneck kind of party?"

  "It is chilly in the evening," she reasoned. "And... it matches my dress. Cream knit. With a maroon scarf."

  Aryan stared at her. "We're going to be color coordinated?"

  "We are a household," she said simply. "We should look cohesive."

  "We're going to look like a catalogue couple," he laughed. "I love it. Let's do it."

  …

  At 5 PM, the town square was buzzing. String lights were draped between the trees. Tables were groaning under the weight of casseroles and potato salads.

  Wanda and Aryan arrived.

  They look like a power couple.

  Aryan wore a maroon turtleneck and grey trousers. He looked elegant and decidedly not like a bachelor.

  Wanda wore the cream sweater dress with a maroon scarf draped artfully around her neck.

  They walked in, Aryan carrying the platter of spinach puffs.

  "Heads up," he whispered to her. "We are entering the danger zone. Prepare for small talk."

  "I am ready," Wanda whispered back, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm.

  They were swarmed immediately. The moment they stepped onto the manicured grass of the town square, it was like a magnet had been switched on.

  "Oh, Sarah, you found them! Look at them!" a woman with a perfectly coiffed blonde bob exclaimed, pointing with a plastic fork.

  "The new neighbors!" another man called out, raising his can of soda in a toast. "The ones who aren't taxidermists!"

  "Try the puffs," a woman in a bright yellow sun hat insisted, already holding a paper plate out to Wanda. "Are these feta? They're divine! You must give me the recipe."

  Wanda found herself navigating the crowd with a grace she hadn't felt in years. She was just Wanda, the woman who had brought the spinach pastries.

  Aryan was a warm presence at her side, his hand resting reassuringly in the small of her back. He was a natural, deflecting questions with easy charm and making jokes about the humidity that had the older women laughing.

  "The garden is a constant battle," he admitted to a man named Herb, who had a formidable mustache. "I'm pretty sure the hydrangeas are plotting against me. They're very dramatic."

  (A lie. Sir Drinks-a-Lot was thriving, and Wanda knew it. She had complimented the bush just that morning).

  They finally managed to secure a small table near the edge of the gazebo, a quiet island in the sea of celebration. But the people came to them. They were a novelty, a new story in a town that had been stuck on the same tragic chapter for five years.

  And the stories poured out of miraculous relief.

  "My husband," a woman with a sharp haircut and even sharper eyes named Dottie said, her voice catching as she looked toward a man grilling burgers. "He was Blipped. I spent five years learning how to fix the plumbing myself, how to pay the mortgage and then one Tuesday, he was just... there. Standing in the kitchen, asking what was for dinner, like he'd just come back from the store." She dabbed her eyes with a napkin. "I hit him with a loaf of bread."

  A man with a kind face joined their table. "My dog, Rusty. He waited. Five years. Just sat by the door. Didn't recognize me at first. Sniffed me for a full minute, then just about licked my face off."

  The air was thick with the ghosts of the lost years. But it was joyful, too. It was the sound of a town learning to breathe again, the collective exhale of a community that had held its breath for half a decade.

  Then, a young girl, maybe early twenties. Blonde. Very... enthusiastic.

  She made a beeline for their table.

  "Hi!" she chirped, looking exclusively at Aryan. "I'm Becky! I haven't seen you around before. You're... wow. You have great style."

  She leaned in, ignoring Wanda completely. She touched Aryan's arm.

  "Is that cashmere?" she asked, rubbing the sleeve of his turtleneck.

  Aryan froze. He looked uncomfortable. He tried to pull his arm back politely.

  "Uh, thanks. It's wool blend, actually. And… "

  "You have such nice eyes," Becky interrupted, batting her lashes. "Do you work out? You look like you work out."

  Wanda stood perfectly still.

  The noise of the party faded into the background. All she could see was Becky's hand on Aryan's arm.

  Get off him, she thought.

  He is mine, the voice in her head hissed.

  She focused her gaze on the back of Becky's head. She reached out with a tiny thread of chaos magic.

  Suggestion: You are thirsty. You are dangerously thirsty. You need a punch. Right now.

  Becky blinked. Her hand dropped from Aryan's arm. She looked confused.

  "I..." Becky stammered. "I'm... parched. I need... juice."

  She spun around and marched toward the punch bowl like a woman possessed.