Elena's POV

"I still cannot believe you have a fireplace,” I said, tilting my wine glass toward the far wall.

Claire didn't even look up from the last box she was unpacking.

“It's gas."

"I don't care what kind," I said, waving her off. “It still counts."

Jenna laughed from the kitchen doorway, where something had been simmering for the past twenty minutes and filling the apartment with the kind of warmth that made everything feel genuinely lived in.

We had spent the better part of ...