The drive to Naomi's place was smooth after the flat tire incident, and for once, the road seemed to understand that we'd earned an uneventful stretch. The late afternoon sun was already dropping lower, painting the asphalt gold and in a way that forced me to close the visor which was already up more than once. Val was humming softly beside me, her elbow resting against the car door, eyes closed as the wind teased strands of her hair.
By the time we reached Naomi's neighborhood, one of those quiet, leafy areas with white fences and laughter echoing faintly in the distance—I could already smell something warm and homemade in the air. A mix of baked bread and cinnamon, maybe. Something that reminded me of comfort.
Val glanced up as I parked. "We're here," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips.
