The smell of bacon and the sound of barking dogs danced through my dreams—a surreal mix of hunger and protection, oddly comforting. The smell was so vivid I could almost hear the fat sizzling in the pan, like it was right there beside my bed. And the rhythmic, peaceful barking was almost like a chant. That combination wrapped me in a familiar warmth, an old memory of lazy Sunday mornings. My eyes snapped open, waking like someone had flipped a switch inside my head. I turned my neck sharply toward Cherrie, still groggy between dream and reality.
"Morning, sleepyhead," she said, looking down at me from the top mattress.
"I was dreaming about bacon," I said, laughing as my stomach growled in response.
Cherrie burst out laughing. "Mom’s making breakfast. The smell must’ve snuck into your d
