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Lena.
I didn’t expect the house to be this clean. Or this quiet. It had the kind of silence that made you feel like your shoes were too loud, like you needed to whisper even if you were alone.
Not that I cared.
I dragged my suitcase inside and let the door slam behind me. On purpose.
“Watch the door,” came a voice from somewhere deep in the house. Deep and sharp and male. Jack. Of course.
I didn’t reply. I just rolled my eyes and kicked off my shoes right there in the entryway. My mother had married him while I was at school; some destination wedding in Belize I had no intention of attending. She sent me a photo of her in a beach dress, barefoot, holding a bouquet of seashells. He was in linen pants, smiling like he didn’t know what he’d signed up for. I remember thinking: he’ll l
