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She was gone before he could answer, the door swinging shut behind her, leaving only the scent of lavender and the faint echo of her laugh.
She burst through the door like a small hurricane wearing a corduroy blazer and mismatched earrings—one a tiny silver cat, the other a plastic strawberry. Her arms were piled high with what looked like a week’s worth of costumes: a velvet cape, three sequined scarves, and a pair of trousers that appeared to be made entirely of denim and regret. She was muttering to herself in the frantic, melodic way of someone who had lost her keys, her phone, and possibly her mind.
“Worst so far,” she corrected cheerfully, finally getting to her feet. She dusted off her corduroy blazer, which now had a wet patch shaped like Florida. “But don’t worry. I’m about to fix that.”
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