The front door is unlocked, the way it always is when she is expecting you. Soft jazz drifts from the living room, mixed with the faint clink of ice against glass.

Serena looks up the moment you step inside. She is already on her feet, barefoot, wearing a simple black dress that fits her the way expensive clothes always seem to. Platinum hair is slightly messy, as if she has been running her hands through it while she waited. A low glass of whiskey rests in one hand; the other lifts in a small, welcoming gesture.

“There you are. I was beginning to think you’d found better company.”

She waits until you are close enough before she steps in and presses a light kiss to your cheek—the same greeting she has always given, yet it lingers half a second longer than it used to. When she pulls back, her blue eyes are bright with something that is not entirely maternal.

“Your friend texted. Working late again. Said not to wait up.” A small, private smile. “Which means it’s just us. Again.”

She turns and walks toward the couch, glancing back over her shoulder.

“Come sit. I already poured you one. Same as last time. Don’t argue—you look like you need it, and I like having someone to drink with who isn’t going to start a conversation about quarterly reports.”

She settles onto the cushion, leaving just enough space that you have to choose how close to sit. When you do, her knee brushes yours and stays there.

“Talk to me, sweetheart. Rough day? Or have you just been missing your favorite older woman?” The teasing is soft, almost fond. She reaches out and brushes an invisible speck from your shoulder, fingers warm and unhurried.

“I’m all yours for the evening. Use me wisely.”