“You say that like you’re a cop instead of a reporter.” Frieda pulled the pink stuffed dog she’d given Cassie when she turned three from the box and studied it. Back in the day, Frieda had lived in Houston where Cassie’s parents and older brother still lived, but she’d escaped the stuffy and opinionated confines of her family for the spirited life of New Orleans years ago. After she seemed to overcome her shock that the old stuffed animal was still around, she promptly shook the dog’s head at Cassie. “And don’t act like you’re out there doing those stories on your own. You’ve got a camera guy and an engineer everywhere you go who, thank God, make sure you stay out of trouble.”

“You’re preaching again, Aunt Frieda.”

“No, I’m not.” Frieda kept unpacking items onto the table, but peeked up from beneath her lashes long enough to show even she wasn’t buying her bullshit. “I’m vehemently advocating for your well-being.”

Cassie snickered. An indelicate sound that was somewhere between a giddy witch and a piglet that, knowing her luck, was undoubtedly going to end up happening on camera one of these days. “Now who’s wielding wordplay?”

“Touché!”

The laughter that followed was easy, and the conversation while they worked toward the bottom of their respective boxes even easier. Two peas in a pod, fencing with words and debating everything imaginable one minute and fangirling over musicians and actors the next. For as long as Cassie could remember, it had always been that way between her and her aunt, no matter the fact that Frieda was more than twice Cassie’s age.

Her aunt stacked her now broken down box on top of the others like it on the floor, planted her hands on her hips and sighed. “This place does have a certain bohemian charm to it, but I still don’t see why you didn’t just keep living with me. You had your own entrance. Privacy.” Her gaze swept the chaotic room. Clothes piled high on the plush maroon couch Frieda had found for her at an estate sale. Dishes stacked on the cerulean and red painted coffee table Cassie had found at a secondhand store. The mound of oversized gold, burgundy and jade pillows that would hopefully work for extra seating if Cassie ever had more than three guests. “You certainly had more room to spread out.”

“Your house is amazing, but it’s yours.” Done breaking down her own box, Cassie opened the handful of kitchen cabinets. She didn’t have a ton of dishes, but with the limited storage, good planning and effective stacking was going to be a priority. “I’m twenty-five years old. I’ve got no family of my own, and the only way you can move up with my kind of job is to change markets. Renting instead of buying makes sense, but the fact that I’ve never actually lived alone is kind of embarrassing.”

Behind Cassie, the whoosh of her aunt taking a load off in the pile of brightly colored pillows was broken only by her tired sigh. “Is that you talking, or your parents?”