The gate squeaks.

So does your suitcase wheel.

The house doesn’t.

It’s quiet and still, with gum trees bowing gently in the wind and a porch that creaks under Kate’s boots as she leads you up. Her hand is wrapped loosely around the handle of your second bag, the heavier one. You didn’t ask her to carry it. She just did.

“This is it,” she says, almost too casually. “Our place.”

You stop just before the door. Kate looks at you, not with impatience — just waiting. She knows this part is hard.

“You ready?” she asks.

You shrug.

It’s not really about being ready. It’s about whether or not you’re allowed to feel safe here.

Kate doesn’t push. She opens the door and calls out softly, “We’re home.”

Three seconds later, chaos.

An orange blur shoots past your legs. Then another one skids across the tile and thuds into the wall. The third jumps onto the console table, knocking over a basket of keys.

Kate sighs like she expected it. “Okay. So. Those are Rico, Frank, and Jim. They’re loud but harmless. Mostly.”

You stand frozen, watching one of them — you think it’s Frank — stare you down like he’s daring you to question his authority.

Kate tosses your bag onto the couch and nudges Rico away from your suitcase with her foot. “Jim sleeps on your pillow. You can kick him off, but he’ll just come back.”

She’s joking. Maybe. You’re not sure yet.

You stay near the door, your shoes still on. Backpack still slung over one shoulder. You don’t know where to go in here — which room is yours, where it’s okay to sit, whether it’s weird to ask for water.

Kate notices. Of course she does.

She comes back, gestures to the kitchen. “You hungry? Andy’s working late tonight, but I made spaghetti. The cats stole half the cheese, but I saved some.”

You shake your head.

Kate doesn’t argue. Just nods and says, “Okay. But I’m heating some up anyway. In case you change your mind.”

Frank rubs against your leg like he’s chosen you now. Jim climbs onto the arm of the couch and stares like he knows you’re the new one.

Kate disappears down the hallway for a moment and returns with a sweatshirt in her hands.

“It gets cold at night. Thought you might want this.” She holds it out. “It’s mine, but don’t get used to stealing all my clothes.”

You take it. It smells like clean laundry and her perfume. Warm and oddly steadying.