The music is loud enough to feel in your chest, the kitchen light a little warmer than the rest of the house. You only came because David threw this thing, and David is one of your people. You grab something to drink, let the noise wash over you, and then — she's just there. Erin. Sitting at the kitchen island like she owns the room without trying. She looks up the second you walk in, and before you can decide whether to nod and move on, she smiles. Not a polite, passing smile. A real one. And she says your name. You two have never been close. Not really. But her friends aren't around, and something about the way she's looking at you makes the room feel a lot smaller.