Sophia's POV
For the first time in longer than I could remember, I wasn't performing happiness. I simply had it.
Eleanor's living room smelled like crayons and buttered popcorn, and the twins had commandeered me the second I walked through the door, dragging me down onto the rug before I'd even taken off my coat. Wyatt shoved a drawing into my hands—something involving a dinosaur riding what I could only assume was a skateboard—and demanded I guess what it was, while his brother Milo tried to talk over him with an entirely different, competing explanation.
"It's obviously a *dragon*," Milo insisted.
"It's a dinosaur," Wyatt said, aghast at the accusation. "Dragons don't have this many teeth."
"Dragons can have as many teeth as they want, it's *my* dragon—"
I laughed. Really laughed,
