Gerard
Rhea’s room smelled like lavender, like her, and it filled me with an excitement I’d never known before. My fingers started buzzing from it. I wanted to drown in the smell. Her room looked wonderful, even if it was sparse. It looked like her, simple, peaceful. Her dresser was by her closet. Her vanity sat on the opposite wall from her bed.
All that being said, her room was small—way too small for someone as wonderful as her. I turned to look at Dylan, wondering if he was thinking the same thing I was. He looked back at me, concern set in his brow.
“You should move to a bigger room,” I said. Dylan nodded.
Good. Glad we were on the same page.
Rhea’s eyes widened in shock. Clearly, she’d never thought about moving to a bigger room. Was that because of how we’d treated her? Did she feel like she didn’t deserve it? I hoped not.
“No,” Rhea said unconvincingly. “No, I . . . I like my room.”