Neal breathed deeply as he slumped on the couch, eyes closed.
The candle flickered.
The familiar smell of pumpkin spice had filled the room, and Neal closed his eyes. It was being like when he was little, when his mom would light the Yankee candles the day before Halloween and play Beethoven's Fifth on the piano. Those were some of his best memories - the pre-nine years. Before dear ol' dad died and mom remarried.
He'd almost forgotten, really. It was nice.
And as the house suddenly burst back into life, he couldn't help but think he was home again.
