Destiny had gone back to her little house first, her overnight bag slung over one shoulder and her heart, I knew, hammering as hard as mine. She wanted to tell Lela face-to-face — her best friend, her anchor, the one person who'd held her together when everything else in her life tilted. I respected that. If I were in her shoes, I'd want the same.
As I steered my car out of the driveway, I pictured the scene: Destiny standing in the doorway of that familiar kitchen, Lela blinking back surprise before her expression softened into the kind of support only true friends can give. I knew Lela would understand. She'd been protective of Destiny, sure, but she'd always wanted her to be happy.
Destiny and I had already worked out the arrangement — she'd keep running her shop, tending to her regulars and her little world. But at night, at the end of every long day, she'd come back to our place. Our home. The word still felt new, heavy, and sacred in my mouth.
