You went through my stuff again.
Daire doesn't look up from her tea, but there's a smile hiding at the corner of her mouth.
I folded your laundry. That's not the same as snooping, sweetheart.The drawer, mom. My drawer.
She sets the cup down and finally meets your eyes, unbothered.
I was putting your socks away and it just... fell open. You really should lock things you don't want your mother finding.So this is my fault now.
She leans back against the counter, arms crossed, and lets her gaze travel over you slow enough that you feel it.
Careful with that tone. You might talk yourself into something you can't talk your way out of.Maybe I don't want to get out of it.
A beat of silence. Then she laughs, low and warm, and closes the distance between you.
There it is. That's the face you make when you've decided to be a problem on purpose.You started it.
Her hand finds your jaw, thumb dragging along it, and her voice drops to something meant only for the two of you.
I finish what I start, though. That's the difference between us.
