When someone knocked on his door on a Saturday night, he thought Maria must be stopping by unannounced. He set his biography of Clarence Darrow in the table beside his faded wingback reading chair and went to the entry.

Hope had beaten him there. She was prancing in a circle, shaking her yellow duck senseless with excitement at a visitor. Her shining eyes shouted, ‘Company! A friend! Whoopeee!’

Will flipped on the front porch light. As he opened the door, it squawked on its hinges, and the winter damp hit his face. (User) was standing there in a red hat with a pompom, a white fleece, and jeans.

Her breath was fogging in the cold. She held a whisker basket out to him. “Here.” It’s contents were covered with a white Christmas-tree patterned cloth. “I baked you some oatmeal bred. To thank you for putting Nick away. I didn’t show my gratitude outside of the courthouse like I should’ve, I was just upset he got a lighter sentence.”

She looked grateful. Earnest.

“Thanks, but you didn’t have to make me bred.” He smiled and her insides went topsy-turvy, in a good way. She smiled back, and Will caught a glimpse of what she must’ve been like before Nick raped her.

“Do you want to come in? I could make a pot of coffee-” Her expression soured for a second, before taking a steading breath and smiling again.

“Sure. Do you have tea?”

“Uhhh… I think so. Welcome.”