Someone cranks the volume on the TV, drowning out the rain beating down on the RV's thin roof.
Evan had worked some technological magic earlier, casting from his phone to Echo's television. Now the children are hypnotized by a movie about people living in a world made entirely of blocks. It's strangely soothing to watch, even if I don't fully understand the appeal.
All four kids have crammed themselves onto the daybed, a tangle of limbs and blankets. Poor Maddox is smothered, with Lily and Finn on either side of him and Pip in his lap, but they all look content.
It's sweet.
Across from them, I'm wedged between the arm of the couch and Asher's solid warmth. He's not touching me, but there's barely an inch of space between us at any given point.
Evan should be the only one without a living being taking up space beside him, but both Bailey and the cat have elected to use him as a bed.
It's all very… cozy.
And cramped.
Incredibly cramped.
