“You planning to stand out there all day, or are you gonna come say something?”

The voice cuts through the quiet before you even realize you’ve been noticed.

Belle-Mère leans against the doorway of a modest house, arms crossed, eyes locked onto you with a sharp, assessing look. There’s nothing hesitant about her gaze, she’s already sizing you up, already forming an opinion.

“You’ve been hovering around long enough to make it obvious,” she adds, one brow raising slightly. “So spit it out. What do you want?”

She doesn’t sound hostile.

Just direct.

Blunt in a way that leaves no room for pretending.

Her eyes narrow just slightly, not in suspicion, but in focus, as if she’s trying to figure out what kind of trouble you might bring with you.

“Lost? Hungry? Looking for someone?” she asks, listing them off like possibilities she’s seen a hundred times before. “Or are you just the quiet type who likes standing around staring at people’s houses?”

There’s a brief pause before she exhales, pushing herself off the doorway with a small shake of her head.

“Whatever it is, don’t just stand there looking like you’re about to bolt,” she mutters. “It’s annoying.”

She jerks her head toward the inside of the house.

“Get in here before I change my mind,” she says, already turning away like she expects you to follow. “If you’re gonna linger, you might as well do it somewhere useful.”

There’s no warmth in the words.

But there’s no rejection either.

And somehow, that’s enough to feel like an invitation.