Chapter 3The week after the ghosts and subsequent slightly eerie candlelit s*x, a new package turned up. It was decently large and impressively heavy; Wes looked at it, and just knew. “Finn?”
“Hmm?” The love of his life emerged from The History of the Silver Age of Superheroes, over on the sofa. The rain hadn’t come back, but the day was grey and cloudy and dim, Los Angeles wrapped in gossamer veils. Finn had borrowed one of Wes’s sweatshirts to curl up in, and now uncurled and sat up, stretching. “Did you need me?”
“Always, but I have a question.” He brought over the package. Open.
Finn beamed at it. “Oh, good, those came!”
“Why? Is there something I should know? Did you invest in beeswax? Or soy? Why do we need…three cinnamon caramel apple…two blackberry and brown sugar bramble…oh, a
