Lexus.
As soon as we stepped into her house, something hit me.
Not a smell exactly—though it did smell like Billie, that warm vanilla and something sweet she probably baked three days ago and forgot about—but more like a feeling.
That feeling of stepping into a space that doesn't just shelter you but... accepts you.
It's ridiculous, right? I've walked into palaces, penthouses, high-security bunkers that cost more than this entire neighborhood. But none of them ever felt like this.
Like home.
Then I sneezed.
Loud. Violent. Undignified.
"See?" she said, all smug as she peeled off her raincoat. "Told you you'd catch a cold. Take off those wet clothes before you start leaking sadness all over my carpet. I'll make you hot cocoa."
"Yes, mom," I muttered, heading to her room, and smiling just a little.
