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disappointed, so I added, “I wouldn’t mind a latte.”
    We swung by a coffee shop near Isaac’s house, and armed with four cups of specialty drinks and a box of muffins, we pulled into his tree-lined driveway and drove under a leafy umbrella of burnt orange and red. The house, a mocha two-story with brown shutters and cream trim, had every window open.
    I followed Isaac up the walk and through the front door. Inside, the smell of fresh paint and pine cleaner fought to overpower each other. The living room and dining room were on either side of the foyer. Both rooms had dark hardwood floors. The dining room table, chairs, and china cabinet sat in the middle of the living room along with several unpacked boxes. A gallon of paint and a ladder were propped against the wall. Straight ahead was the staircase.
    “Let’s give my parents their coffee, and then we’ll get to work.”
    Isaac led the way upstairs, where we found his mom standing on a ladder, edging the master bedroom in a glossy camel color. She wore paint-splattered overalls and a scarf covering her short auburn hair. The furniture had been pushed to the center of the room. His father had his back to us as he rolled paint onto the wall.
    “We brought caffeine,” Isaac said. “And breakfast.”
    I stood a little behind Isaac and smoothed my hair with my fingers, hoping to make a good first impression.
    His father put down the roller and came over to shake my hand. “You must be Madison. It’s very nice of you to come over to help, but there’s been a change of plans.”
    I held out my hand, ready for it to disappear in his father’s, but when our palms brushed, I got shocked by static electricity.
    “Ow!” I yanked my hand back, my fingers curled into a fist.
    He exchanged a quick glance with Isaac. “Sorry, I’m always shuffling my feet. Shock Lisa all the time.”
    “It’s true,” his mom confirmed, looking at Isaac. I turned my attention back to him, but he was busy placing two coffees and a couple of muffins on the floor near an empty water bottle.
    “It’s okay,” I reassured them. “What’s the change of plans?”
    His mom waved her paintbrush in the air absentmindedly and said, “I’m not happy with the paint we bought for the dining room. So I was hoping you two wouldn’t mind doing some unpacking instead.”
    “Sure.” I shrugged, secretly thanking his mom for hating the color. It was better for everyone that I wasn’t trusted with a gallon of paint in a room that had real hardwood floors.
    Isaac leaned closer to me and whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear, “This is her way of getting me to set up my room.”
    “Can you blame me?” She laughed. “If I didn’t, you’d just live out of the boxes.”
    “Really, I don’t mind,” I said before Isaac could argue.
    Isaac gave me a quick tour of the upstairs, which included two bedrooms stuffed with boxes and miscellaneous furniture and a bathroom with a skylight.
    “Where’s your room?” I asked.
    “Downstairs. Wait till you see it.”
    His bedroom only added to his mystique. The basement door was common wood, but the passage beyond was far from ordinary. I ran my hand along the rough brick wall where a railing would normally be and made my way down the curved stone stairs. Every couple of steps, there was a nook in the wall and a half-burned candle to occupy it. Dried wax dripped from a few. Musk and spice beckoned to me, pulling me forward.
    “It needs a little work,” Isaac admitted.
    The basement wasn’t big. The walls were the same brick and the floor the same stone as I’d seen on the way down. An iron ring the height of a chair rail wrapped its way around the circular room. Isaac had his bed pushed against the far wall, the black comforter thrown on it haphazardly. There were several boxes cluttered in front of a low black bookshelf and more in front of a rectangular nook that looked like the closet. The only door, this one with iron hinges and hardware,