Hormones and the Delights of Large Bank Accounts
. . .
Swirl pulled up to the mansion that had once been Mrs. Evans'. It now bore his and Daisy's names on the deed.
Daisy had sent him a text asking to meet her here. With everything going on—the selling of MyT-Spot, sex, graduation, sex, closing on the house, sex, and their impending move to New Hampshire—Swirl knew she was starting to feel overwhelmed. What she needed was a nice, quiet, event-free night of sleep. He was going to run her a warm bath, massage her shoulders, and make sure she crawled into bed by nine.
Swirl twisted the key in the front door, unlocking it, but didn't recognize the house he walked into. The foyer had been transformed into a forest, the hardwood floors covered in a grassy substance, fake trees looming as high as the ceiling. In the center of it all was Daisy, lounging on a flowery knoll. She was a bewitching presence, with thick, brunette tresses that fell over her shoulders in waves as smooth as was also wearing a silky, pale dress and Elf ears.
"Hello, Muyuril. It is I, Bellewyn Riel, of the Lothlórien realm."
His keys dropped to the floor. Sleep could wait.