Natalie had always said Nina's place smelled like something was always almost burning. Not burnt. Just on the edge. Like onions left too long in a pan or toast forgotten for half a minute. It made the space feel lived in, which Natalie liked.
She kicked off her shoes by the door, not bothering to line them up.
"You look tired," Nina said from the kitchen, voice floating out lazily. "Like the kind of tired that sleep doesn't fix, or sex ,or wine, or all three combined."
Natalie dropped onto the couch. "I don't know whether to feel insulted or seen."
"Both," Nina replied easily. "That's the sweet spot."
Natalie leaned her head back, stared at the ceiling. There was a faint crack running diagonally across it, the kind you stopped noticing after a while.
"She called again," Natalie said.
Nina didn't ask who.
Instead she said, "Did you pick up?"
