“But you don’t think it will.” It wasn’t a question. Given the way he and Tristan had reacted on the phone earlier, they were worried for me.
He turned the laptop to face himself again. “I like to prepare for the worst-case scenario.”
The nervous energy bouncing around inside me hadn’t calmed any. I slid out of my chair and went to fill the electric kettle. “Tea? Since we’re both awake, anyway?”
“I’m fine,” he said, but I filled the kettle and flicked it on.
Rummaging through an upper cabinet, through boxes of tea, I said, “Chamomile might help you sleep.”
“Something green, if they have it.” His voice was grudging, as if accepting tea meant surrendering a crucial battle.
I busied myself with the preparations, grateful for the simple routine. Nothing but tea bags and hot water—no strainer, no measuring tea leaves, no need to time how long they’dbeen steeping. While the water heated, I reached for Isabella’s mismatched collection of mugs, selecting a deep blue one for Garrett and a cheerful yellow one for myself. The kettle clicked off, and I poured the steaming water over my tea bag. It wasn’t needed, but I set the kitchen timer to three minutes out of habit.
“Proper temperature and steeping time are important,” I explained when I caught him watching me. “My grandmother always said life was too short for a bad cup of tea. If you’re too fast, it’s weak; if you’re too slow, it grows bitter.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he resumed his research as I moved around the kitchen, gathering honey and sugar. The timer ticked down while an oddly comfortable silence settled between us.
Once the timer finished, I poured the water over his tea bag. Didi couldn’t stand green tea, but my mother loved it, so I had the timing down. Three minutes after pouring in boiling water was the right steep for black tea, the minimum for herbal, and the perfect amount of time for the water to cool enough to avoid burning green tea leaves. After I finished preparing the drinks, I placed a steaming mug in front of him. “I didn’t hear anything from the police. Hopefully they have some news before we leave tomorrow. Or today, I guess, since it’s after one.”
He pulled the tea close, and the gesture of acceptance felt like progress. “I called for an update about an hour ago.”
I settled back into my chair with my own mug. “And?”
“They found fingerprints on your jewelry box that didn’t belong to either of us.”
I froze, the mug halfway to my lips. Someone had actually been there?
“Looks like you were right about the jewelry box.” There were no emotions behind his words, just facts, which made it worse in some ways. “They’re going to check the building’s security footage tomorrow.”
“It was one thing to worry someonemighthave been there.” I put my mug down before I dropped it. “It’s another to know they were.”
He nodded, wrapping his fingers around the mug. “Yeah.”
“The police took my prints,” I said, churning through possibilities. “And yours. But Isabella’s been over, and Tristan. Vanessa comes by every few weeks. Plus, my parents, of course.”
“The print was two fingers, one on either side of the jewelry box.” He lifted his mug, blowing steam curls off the top. “Would any of them have been in your bedroom?”
“Izzy, maybe? She helped me pick an outfit for a girls’ night out last month.”
He nodded, his perpetual frown unreadable. “Anyone else?”
In my bedroom? Sadly, no.
“I noticed a photo of a man on your dresser when I was checking the window locks. Boyfriend? Could they be his prints?”
A laugh escaped before I could stop it, high and slightly strained. “That was Peter, my brother.”
“Ah.” He took a sip of tea, his eyes stuck on mine.
“And no, there hasn’t been anyone else in my bedroom recently.” Heat crept up my neck, and an image of him flinging me onto my bed flitted through my brain. “Not for a long time.”
Why did you say that?
“I see.” His jaw unclenched a fraction. “The Brenton PD are going to run the prints through their databases, and Tristan can stay on top of them from here. He says he’s got an in with some of the officers.”
“Everyone in town knows at least some of the officers. Although I think he’s been more involved since Izzy’s whole…” I waved my hand randomly, shooing the thought away. It wasn’t my place to tell her story.
“Small towns,” he almost grumbled. “Everyone knows everyone.”
