The house smelled like rosemary and roasted chicken when Lena and Tyler arrived on Saturday evening. Elias had spent the afternoon fussing over the meal in a way that told me how nervous he was, even though he kept insisting it was “just dinner.” I had set the table with the good plates and lit a few candles on the porch, not to make it fancy, but because the soft light felt safer for what we were about to share.
Lena walked in first, carrying a bottle of wine and a warm hug for both of us. Tyler followed with a six-pack and his usual easy grin. They settled at the kitchen table while Elias carved the chicken and I brought out the roasted vegetables and salad.
For the first half hour, the conversation stayed light. Tyler talked about a new job he was bidding on across town. Lena updated
