Amelia folds her arms. “Are you saying my truck smells?”
“No.”
“Derby.”
“I’m saying every truck deserves the opportunity to smell like artificial forest.”
August sniffs it. “It smells like Uncle Legend’s bathroom spray.”
I look at Amelia. “That tracks.”
She takes the air freshener from me and smiles like she is trying not to. “Thank you.”
August steps back, still holding Throttle. “You can come in.”
I look at Amelia.
She notices.
Her face changes in that small way it does when something gets past her fear and touches the softer place underneath.
She steps aside.
“Come in, Derby.”
So I do.
Not because the kid allowed it.
Not because I could.
Because she invited me.
The trailer smells like lemon cleaner and whatever candle Sophie brought over because she can’t enter a room without making it more expensive. There is a new throw blanket on the couch. A vase on the counter holding the grocery store flowers I brought last time, already wilting but still standing like stubborn little soldiers. Her mother’s box sits on a shelf in the living room, not hidden, not opened either.
The place is still bare in spots. Empty wall above the couch. No rug yet. A stack of folded towels still in a laundry basket. Boxes in the corner. But it feels like hers.
I don’t toss my cut over a chair.
I ask with my hand lifted slightly.
“Where?”
Her eyes flick to the chair near the door. “There is fine.”
I hang it carefully.
August watches every move like he is grading me.
“You taking my mama on a date again?” he asks.
“Trying.”
“You got money?”
I hear Amelia inhale.
I stare at the kid. “Enough.”