“Hey,” I said, breathless from both the cold and my own excitement.

“Hi,” he replied, stepping aside so I could come in.

The place already looked more put together. No more socks on appliances or jackets on TV screens. Just Bryson—standing in the kitchen with two mugs of tea waiting.

“You’ve officially made toast, tea, and survived a driving lesson,” I said, stepping closer. “I call that progress.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

I ...