I let it go.
It’s probably nothing.
We talk a little longer about his marriage and what went wrong. Time slides by in that easy way it does when you feel grounded.
Eventually, Drew glances at his phone and grimaces. “I’ve gotta run an errand before rush hour turns the roads into a parking lot.”
I nod, walking him to the door.
When the front door closes again, the quiet returns, but softer this time.
I go back into the kitchen, absently tidying. That’s when I notice it. The back door isn’t fully latched.
I stare at it for a moment, trying to remember when I last touched it. Before Drew got home? After? I’m not sure.
A chill creeps up my spine.
I move to it, closing and locking it, listening to the click echo through the house.
I stand there for another second, my hand still resting on the lock.
If I tell Sebastian about the door, he won’t ask questions. He’ll act.
Besides, maybe I left it ajar. I’m not immune to mistakes, no matter how much I want to be.
Mr. Pickles was agitated by a bird on the deck earlier. I picked the cat up and set him on the couch, then opened the door and shooed the blackbird away. Wings flapped before it took off toward the woods.
I hurried back inside, the cold biting through my sweater. I didn’t check to make sure I latched the door.
I pivot toward Drew’s empty coffee mug and rinse it.
It doesn’t make sense to tell Sebastian.
Not until I have proof that something’s wrong.
38
SEBASTIAN
I leave the office at noon on Fridays because nothing important happens after that.
It’s a rule I’ve followed for years. Clean exits. Predictable rhythms. The world behaves better when you don’t tempt it.
I walk inside my house, loosening my tie. Drew’s keys lie on the coffee table.
As I approach the kitchen, I hear the low hum of Drew’s laptop fan. Ivy’s soft, warm laugh floats from inside. It stops me mid-step, something warm settling low in my chest before I can question why.
Drew sits at the dining table, sleeves rolled up, tie abandoned, glaring at a spreadsheet like it personally wronged him. Accountant energy, through and through. Numbers, control, order after chaos. It suits him.
Ivy is barefoot, one leg tucked beneath her, phone in her hands. Her hair is in a messy bun, swallowed by my large sweatshirt. She’s comfortable, belonging in a way that still surprises me.
She looks up when she hears me and smiles. “Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” I answer.
I cross the room, brushing a kiss against her temple. She leans into it automatically, her shoulder fitting beneath my hand like it always has. The motion feels practiced. Familiar. Dangerous.
Drew glances up. “You’re home early.”
