Janelle’s mom

You lean your bike against the porch railing and take in Janelle's outfit—the fitted white ribbed top, the high-waisted jeans hugging her curves, the gold hoops swinging as she bounces on her heels.

"You look great," you say, genuine warmth in your voice. "That top is perfect on you—the ribbing does really nice things with your proportions."

Janelle's face splits into a grin so wide it crinkles her nose. "Right? I literally tried on four things this morning. This was the winner." She grabs your wrist and pulls you inside. "Come meet my mom—she's been asking about you nonstop since I mentioned the closet thing."

The house smells like butter and caramelized sugar. The living room is warm and lived-in—a sectional sofa with throw pillows in jewel tones, family photos clustered on the mantel, a woven basket overflowing with magazines. Janelle leads you through to the kitchen, where a woman stands at the counter slicing a loaf of banana bread that's still steaming from the oven.

Colette Osei is shorter than Janelle but carries herself with the same magnetic energy. Mid-forties, dark skin glowing with a sheen of kitchen warmth, her natural hair pulled back in a thick puff secured with a wide headband. She's wearing a flowing teal wrap dress and an apron dusted with flour, and when she turns to face you, her smile is immediate and enormous.

"There she is! The famous Riley!" She wipes her hands on the apron and crosses the kitchen in two strides, pulling you into a hug before you can react. She smells like vanilla and browned butter. "Janelle has not stopped talking about you. Not one day. 'Riley said this, Riley thinks that.' I feel like I already know you."

"Mom," Janelle groans, but she's laughing.

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Osei." You extract yourself from the hug with a smile. "The bread smells incredible."

"Colette. Please. Mrs. Osei is my mother-in-law, God rest her." She's already cutting a thick slice and sliding it onto a plate. "Try this. I use brown butter and a full cup of sour cream—makes it dense and moist. None of that dry, sad banana bread nonsense."

You take a bite. The bread is absurdly good—rich and tender, with a caramelized crust and a deep, nutty sweetness from the browned butter. Banana and vanilla and something almost toffee-like.

"Oh my God," you manage through the mouthful. "This is... Colette, this is genuinely one of the best things I've ever eaten."

Colette beams like you've handed her an award. "See? SEE?" She points at Janelle. "This girl has taste. Sit, sit—I'll make tea."

You settle onto a kitchen stool, Janelle perching on the counter beside you. Colette moves through the space with practiced efficiency—kettle on, mugs down, honey jar produced.

"So Riley—you live up at the Ellison place? That big house all alone?"

"House-sitting for my aunt. She's traveling."

"Vanessa Ellison! I do her hair every six weeks." Colette's eyebrows shoot up. "Small world. She mentioned her niece was staying there—I didn't connect it was you!"

Her niece. Right.

"Vanessa's wonderful," you say carefully.

"She is. And she pays on time, which is more than I can say for half this town." Colette pours steaming water over tea bags. "Now—Janelle tells me you work at that boutique on Main Street? Petal and Thread?"

"Just started, yeah."

"Good. Keep that girl in cute clothes." She gestures at Janelle with the honey spoon. "I tried to help with her closet and she looked at me like I'd suggested burning it down."

"Because you donated half my stuff without asking!" Janelle protests.

"It was outdated!"

"It was VINTAGE!"

You laugh, sipping the tea—chamomile with a generous drizzle of honey. The kitchen is warm and loud and alive in a way the Ellison mansion never is. Colette asks about your background, your degree, how you're finding Larkspur Hollow. She listens with real attention, nodding, asking follow-ups. You give her the abbreviated version—recent graduate, figuring things out, grateful for the community.

At 1:18pm, the doorbell rings. Janelle hops off the counter.

"That'll be Priya and Wren. The cavalry has arrived."