The quiet inside our home hits me like a warm, velvet wave.
After hours of roaring laughter, clattering plates, heavy bass from the clubhouse jukebox, and the constant, booming presence of twenty leather-clad men celebrating my clean health scans, the stillness is almost physical.
I kick off my cute little boots by the door, letting out a long, shuddering sigh of absolute relief that rattles clear down to my ribs. My feet sink into the plush rug, and I lift off the flower crown still sitting on top of my head.
I set the woven ring of pink peonies and eucalyptus gently on the entry table, running my fingers over the soft petals one last time, admiring the weight of the day and how incredible it feels to finally be home.
“I’ll start a fire," Locke says. “It’s a bit chilly in here.”
He
