Celeste
The wicker chair creaked when I sat, and for a long moment neither of us said anything at all.
Alan perched on the edge of the seat across from me with the lilies balanced on his knee, like a man waiting outside a principal's office. Behind him, at the far end of the porch, Axel leaned against the railing with his arms folded, and Lowen sat on the top step with his back to the post. Neither pretended not to be listening. Both of them were close enough that I could feel their attention against my skin, warm and steadying, like a hand pressed to the small of my back.
"You look good," Alan said at last. "Healthy. I was afraid—" He cut himself off with a short, unsteady breath. "Never mind. You look good."
"Thank you." I folded my hands in my lap. "You said ten minutes."
"I did."
