“Oh, yeah.” She pops another pizza roll in her mouth. “Anything can have a fortune if you’re greedy enough.”

At the look on my face, she adds, “I mean, obviously not Duke. He could’ve fought me for the house, and he didn’t. But I’m positive that if you go far enough back through his family tree, someone made a deal with the devil or, like, killed someone to get their hands on a secret recipe.”

“I look forward to their HBO drama,” I say.

She’s quiet for a moment. “You should let Miles know you’re staying here.”

“It’s not like that with us,” I remind her.

“You don’t want him charging into the FBI offices, claiming you’ve been taken, do you?” she asks.

“Taken?” I say. “Like kidnapped?”

“I don’t know, whatever happens in those movies you two are obsessed with,” she says. “Like, held at gunpoint and forced to rob a museum with your highly specialized skill set, or whatever.”

“Right, I’m going to be ‘taken’ by someone who needs the inside scoop on children’s literature.”

“Just let him know you’re staying here,” she says.

“Fine,” I groan.

Staying with Ash, I type out. He replies almost instantly, k.

“There,” I tell her.

“Good.” Ashleigh tips her head toward the back doors. “Now, let’s watch something gory.”

“Real Housewives?” I guess.

“This,” she says, “must be what it’s like to be a proud mother.”

“Did you forget about Mulder?” I say.

“Just for a second,” she says. “He’s back now, though.”

On Monday night, while Miles is at work, I run back to the apartment to pack some clothes. Aside from our differences in personal style, Ashleigh’s both shorter and curvier than I am, and even the slouchy jersey dress she lent me for work today managed to hang from my chest like two deflated balloons.

Tuesday, on our way in, we hit up a drive-through coffee kiosk near her house. She’s not a morning person, and we barely speak until we get to work, at which point her first real words of the day are, “Wow! Maybe you should move in with me. I could be on time every day.”

“We’re four minutes late,” I point out.

“Which is four minutes earlier than usual,” she says.

“If I moved in with you,” I say, “I don’t think our friendship would survive that.”

“I’m not sure we would even survive that,” she says. “It’d be like some deranged eighties sitcom, with a vaguely haunted laugh track.”

“What’s this about you moving in together?” Harvey asks, emerging from his office, mug in hand.

“We’re not,” Ashleigh and I both say.

“Relieved to hear that,” he says. “It’s manageable for one of you to be late every day, so long as the other is early.”

“And which of us is which?” Ashleigh asks, feigning ignorance.

After work, we grab burritos, then pick up Mulder from after-school band practice. “This is my friend Daphne,” she tells him as he climbs into the backseat of her hatchback with a trombone case nearly as big as he is. “Daphne, this is Mulder.”

“Hi!” I wave.

I expect a sulky preteen nonresponse, but despite his overall aesthetic projecting this, he nods politely and says, “Nice to meet you, Daphne.”

“You too!” I say.

“She’s staying with us for a couple of days,” Ashleigh tells him.

“Cool.” He pulls a handheld video game out of his backpack. She asks about his day, and he confirms it was “so boring he almost died” and also that “Ricky Landis puked in first period, and Tinsley G”—there are two Tinsleys in his first period—“was so grossed out, she threw up too.”

Then, without taking a breath, he asks what’s for dinner, and Ashleigh hoists the burrito bag into the air.

A minute later, he adds, “Aren’t you guys a little old for sleepovers?”

Ashleigh looks dismayed. I cackle, until she tells Mulder to guess how old I am.

Guilelessly, he says, “I don’t know. Forty-five?”

And then she’s cackling.

“That’s older than your mom,” I point out.

He just shrugs, goes back to playing his game.

On Wednesday, after work, I shut myself into the guest room to do a video interview with Anika and Clay, the Ocean City Library district manager and branch manager, respectively. “How soon could you be out here?” Anika asks with a sunny smile as we’re saying our goodbyes.

My heart shoots up into my throat, but my voice stays even. “As soon as I fulfill my two weeks’ notice.”

Anika and Clay exchange a smile. I’m rarely the most confident person in the room, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure I’ve got it when Clay says, “We’ll be in touch as soon as possible.”

When I leave the guest room, Ashleigh’s waiting for me in the hall with champagne.

“I don’t want you to go,” she says, “but I want you to be happy.”

By Thursday, I’m actually ahead of schedule for the Read-a-thon, but the school calls Ashleigh at work to come pick up Mulder early, because he’s finally caught the stomach bug that’s been going around.

The very last thing I need is to get sick right now, and I debate going back to the apartment for the next two days. Instead I double my handwashing.

By midday Friday, Mulder texts Ashleigh that he hasn’t gotten sick at all that day. So far, neither she nor I have any symptoms, so things are looking up.