(Dorian's Perspective)
The door opens on the single-wide mobile home as I roll up in the dust in front of it. It's not much to look at, and it's cramped as all hell, but it's home for the moment. At least until we can get the rubble in the valley cleared and start rebuilding.
I'm not certain I've ever been happier.
I turn the Range Rover's key, killing the engine, and smile at my mate as she comes down the two hastily-framed stairs to the ground level, picking at an opaque stain of pale pink paint on the heel of her palm. Her jeans are filthy, her hands, arms and t-shirt covered in smudges of paint.
And she's never looked more beautiful to me.
"Did you find everything?" she asks as I open the driver's side door. Winnowing her fingers through her disheveled hair, she collects it into a ponytail at her nape, then ties it with an elastic band. She trails along in my wake as I walk around to the back and pop the hatch to show her.
