Tara's place smelled faintly of vanilla candles and laundry detergent, a warmth Evie's chest ached to feel, but didn't. She moved mechanically through the motions of unpacking, stacking folded sweaters on the bed, shoving jeans into drawers. Every so often, her eyes would snag on something with sentimental memory. Like a scarf Tommy once said made her look "like trouble," or a notebook they'd written bucket list items in and her throat would tighten.
The last thing she wanted to be was a weepy measure who had no choice but to crash temporarily with her employee. She didn't know which hotels would be safe, given that Callum was still out there.
When Tara walked in, balancing a paper bag of groceries, she froze in the bedroom doorway. Evie was sitting cross-legged on the bed, one of Tommy's hoodies draped around her shoulders, eyes shining with tears she hadn't bothered to wipe away.
"Oh, Evie…" Tara set the groceries on the nightstand. "I thought you were gonna take a nap."
