“Do I look like I am freezing to death?” Mom demanded, shivering violently.
“Yes,” Kyle, Brooke, and I replied in perfect, bleak unison.
Brooke shushed us. “Nobody mentions the climate control issue! We pretend this is an intentional lifestyle choice!”
She took a deep, shuddering breath, pasted a terrifyingly wide, brilliant smile onto her face, and pulled open the heavy oak door.
Declan Vale stood on the porch. He was wearing faded denim jeans, scuffed leather boots, and a massively thick, black arctic puffer jacket.
“Declan,” Brooke purred. Her vocal register suddenly dropped an octave, adopting a sophisticated, breathy cadence that was foreign to me. “It is absolutely incredible to finally synergize with you in a physical space.”
Declan stepped over the threshold. He exhaled, watching his breath form a faint cloud in the air.
“Wow,” he said softly.
Brooke’s smile widened until I feared her facial muscles might snap. “You appreciate the vibe? We cultivate a very open, elemental atmosphere.”
