Brandon Carter—or so he called himself—looked perfectly at ease sprawled across Julia’s couch. He stretched like a lazy cat, while Julia stormed around her tiny kitchen, muttering about freeloaders.“You’re still here?” she snapped, tying her apron before work.“You agreed,” he said smugly. “Your landlord should thank me. I’m basically saving his business.”“You’re saving your butt,” Julia shot back. “And don’t touch anything while I’m gone.”Of course, the moment she left for her morning shift, Brandon touched everything.The refrigerator hummed, half-empty save for eggs, pack of instant noodle, and a wilting bunch of spinach. Brandon eyed the eggs like they were a puzzle.“How hard can it be?” he muttered.Ten minutes later, black smoke curled from the frying pan. The eggs were burnt to a crisp, the pan handle slick with grease. Brandon coughed, fanning the smoke alarm with a dish towel.“Why would anyone cook this themselves?” he groaned, dumping the charred remains straight into th
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