“God, yes,” I said, practically drooling as the tempting scent of orange chicken and beef with broccoli sauce wafted my way. I turned to Robin. “Vinnie’s one of my neighbors.” To Vinnie I said, “This is my friend Robin.”

“Nice to meet you,” Robin said.

Vinnie bowed her head. “I am Vinamra Patel, but please call me Vinnie.”

Vinnie and her girlfriend, Suzie Stein, lived in a loft down the hall from me. They were wood sculptors and animal activists. Until I moved here, I’d never actually seen two chain-saw-wielding lesbians go to town on a three-hundred-pound hunk of redwood burl. It was impressive.

“This is really sweet, Vinnie,” I said, staring into the stuffed shopping bag. “Thanks.”

“We leave tonight for the Sierra Festival and didn’t want to throw food away,” she explained to Robin. “It will not go to waste here.”

Robin shot me a look. “They know you so well.”

My eyes narrowed. “They’re attentive neighbors.”

“She is a good little eater,” Vinnie said with a soft smile. “I will put this in the kitchen.” She disappeared down the hall that led to my living area.

Robin laughed. “No wonder you love this place.”

She also knew me well. Yes, I liked to eat. A lot. I wasn’t picky. I loved everything. Especially chocolate. And pizza. Oh, and red meat. I loved a good steak. I blamed it on my parents and the two-year “vegan phase” they’d foisted on me and my siblings during our formative years. I still had the emotional scars and enjoyed reminding them of the pain whenever they lit up the barbecue grill.

“Everything is in the fridge,” Vinnie said in her singsong voice as she handed me a cluster of keys. Her eyes widened as she noticed the lumpy shards of leather and paper on my table. “This is your new work?”