My mother said he was perfect.
Cole Brennan. Forty-four. Broad shoulders, expensive watch, the kind of voice that made waitresses linger. He had been in our house three weeks and already had a drawer in her dresser and a coffee mug that nobody else was allowed to touch. She looked at him like he’d invented kindness.
I looked at him like I was going to hell.
I’m Sienna Hale. Twenty-two. College. I still lived at home because rent in this city was a joke and Mom liked having me under the same roof. That was fine until she brought home a man whose eyes dropped to my mouth when she wasn’t watching and stayed there a second too long.
Tonight she was on a night shift at the hospital. Graveyard. She kissed his cheek at the door, told me there was leftover pasta, and left me in the kitchen wit
