At seven o’clock, the air turned crisp on the porch of the Miller house.

Eleanor was in the kitchen, unpacking the boxes and making hot chocolate.

I sat on the wooden porch bench, watching the cars drive past on our street.

The screen door creaked open behind me.

Emma came out wearing her heavy winter coat.

She climbed onto the bench and sat right beside me.

She reached out and held my hand.

Her small fingers felt warm against my knuckles.