“Yeah,” I nod. “Come on in.”
The door shuts behind us with a soft click.
She steps inside, glancing around.
“Wow,” she says lightly. “This place is…minimalist.”
I huff out a quiet laugh.
“It’s a work in progress. As in, I just got the keys two days ago. It’s not much, but it’s home.”
She walks a few steps in, boots soft against the floor, taking it in.
“No couch?” she asks.
“Nope.”
“No rug?”
“Not yet.”
She turns back to me. “Just the one chair?”
I nod. “Just the one. I wasn’t planning on company so soon.”
A beat passes, an awkwardness hanging between us.
“Well,” she says, setting the speaker down on the counter, “guess we’ll have to stand.”
I cross my arms.
“Or you could start talking.”
That lands, and her smile fades a little.
“Right,” she says. “Yeah. Talking. That’s…why I drove seventeen hours.”
“You drove? For real?”
She shrugs. “I like a long drive, you know?”
I don’t react.
Not yet, at least.
“So,” I say. “Talk.”
She exhales slowly, like she’s trying to organize everything in her head.
“I messed up.”
I tilt my head.
“Okay.”
Her eyes flick up to mine, searching.
“I did,” she says. “I made it seem like…like you were just?—”
