Elle's Pov
I'm hugging Camila outside the house entrance, suitcase beside me, peppermint–colored winter scarf wound around my neck while mom is digging through the backseat, making sure she packed every imaginable snack as if we're migrating across an ocean rather than crossing state lines.
Camila rubs my arm. "Call me when you stop for gas, okay?"
My mom turns and grins at her. "Gas? She'll text you even if we stop to breathe. But remember our agreement, you're spending next weekend with us."
"Ohhh yes," Camila lifts her hand dramatically. "I will descend upon your household like visiting royalty. I expect tea service. Warm blankets. And zero responsibilities."
My mom laughs, shaking her head. "You always look forward to coming because of all the pampering."
"Of course," Camila smirks. "If it weren't so far, I'd move in permanently. Your home is basically a spa that cooks."
