[Prompt from http://daily-writing.blogspot.com/ . The point of this prompt is to find a random song and incorporate the first line of the song into your writing, making it the first line.]
She makes herself at home; God, it’s better than her place. She clutched the ragged cardigan around her shoulders, trying to get warm in the lovely 70 degree apartment. She caught me looking at her and her gaze immediately dropped to the floor. In a motion probably meant to look as though she was fixing her hair, she rubbed a smudge of dirt off her cheek with the back of her hand.
“You can stay here as long as you like,” I said. The snowy tundra out the window gave another howl as if to repeat my offer. “Would you like some hot chocolate?”
I hadn’t been a kid in almost ten years, but I though hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows and a squirt of whipped cream (following a squirt directly into the mouth, of course) on top never went out of style. In the nervous twitch of her mouth, I thought I saw a smile and her eyes most definitely lit up. She nodded slightly.
I rushed to make myself useful.
She gingerly patted the warm ceramic mug between her hands. I did the same with my own, wondering if I had made the milk too hot or was simply still cold from the walk back to the apartment. We sat there in silence for a moment, her sitting at the island staring deeply into the melting cream and me leaning against the counter.
At last, she hesitantly brought the cup to her mouth and took an audible sip. Her mouth twitched again.
“Thank you,” she squeaked.