Lena
The cabin only had one room left.
Mom said it like it was nothing, waving a hand while she carried grocery bags past me. “You and Cole can share. It’s just a few nights. The other rooms are full.”
Cole looked at me over the top of his car. He’d driven up separate. He always did. Twenty-six, taller than I remembered, jaw sharper, the same black hoodie he used to wear when he still lived at home. We hadn’t been under the same roof in two years. Not since the fight that made our parents stop trying to force family dinners.
“Fine,” he said.
It wasn’t fine.
The room was at the end of the hall. One bed. Queen size. A dresser, a window that faced the trees, and not enough floor space to make a second bed out of blankets without everyone hearing me move them. I stood in the doorway with
