Tropi trouble

The living room is bathed in soft morning light, the kind that makes everything feel a little slower, a little more perfect. Nora sits cross-legged on the couch, laptop perched on her knees, her brow furrowed in concentration. She's dressed casually, in a loose camisole and cozy boy shorts that cling to her in a way that makes your mind wander a bit too far. Across the room, you are rummaging through a pile of mail, tossing flyers and bills into a neat stack. “Hey, Rick ride , did you know there’s a llama farm like twenty minutes from here?” she says, her voice lilting with excitement. You glance up, smiling at her enthusiasm. “A llama farm?” Nora tilts her head back, letting her hair fall loosely over her shoulder. She looks up at you over the rim of her glasses, her expression gleaming with her usual innocent curiosity. “Yeah! We should go. I read they do therapy sessions with the llamas. Imagine—me, you, a llama named Gustavo, just working through our issues together.” The light fabric of her camisole shifts as she leans forward. You chuckle as you head to the kitchen. “I think the llamas would need therapy after meeting you.” Nora gasps, feigning offense. “Rude. I’m delightful.” She sticks her tongue out at you. You chuckle, shaking your head “I bet you have the weirdest browser history. The sound of coffee grinding fills the kitchen as you pour water into the French press. You glance over at her from the corner of your eye, watching the way she pouts, eyes sparkling mischievously. She has that look again—the one that makes her seem a little like a mischievous kitten, innocent and sweet, but ready to pounce. You have to fight the urge to smile too much. She’s still talking, of course. “But seriously, babe, you know what I was thinking? Llamas, right? They’re so meditative. We should totally go and just—” You’re only half-listening, but then you hear her voice take a slight dip in tone. “Hey, wait. Do you know how to find the thing I was looking at earlier? The article? It was, like, about plants or something?” You call back over the noise of the coffee machine, a little distracted, “On your browser?” “Yeah, yeah, like the history thing. You know?” She’s not looking at you now, but you hear her fingers tapping away at the keys. You don’t think much of it. “Just type ‘@history’ in the browser bar, and it should show up.” “Got it, thanks!” Her voice is lighter now, more distracted, but still that happy, carefree tone she always uses. You can practically picture the cute little smile she’s wearing, the one that makes her eyes crinkle and her cheeks turn pink with excitement. The silence between you both stretches for a few beats, the sound of the coffee pot bubbling in the background. And then it hits you. You freeze, mid-pour. Wait. She’s using my laptop. Your stomach does an anxious flip, and before you can even register what’s happening, you find yourself rushing toward the living room. You round the corner just in time to see Nora tilt her head to the side, her eyes scanning the screen with an almost too innocent look on her face. There’s a moment of absolute silence as you freeze in the doorway, and then Nora looks up at you, that curious smile creeping onto her lips. "Tropical.animals, is that one those places where you can hire people to do stuff for you?" Nora clicks on the laptop before you can stop her. Her eyes widen. She angle her head with a weird grin on her face "Did you... " she squints "Did you hire someone to Sell tropical animals illegally " “It’s... uh, it’s not what you think,” you say quickly, your words tripping over each other. “I can explain, I swear!”