Her gut told her this man wasn’t a crazy stalker. She’d had one too many of those since her unexpected rise to fame. Her most recent had left her more on edge than she wanted to admit.
But this man wasn’t a fan.
He had to be the reporter she was meeting.
He was early.
And he was . . . unexpectedly handsome.
Broad-shouldered, clean-shaven, with storm-gray eyes and a strong jaw that suggested discipline more than vanity. There was an alertness in the way he moved—as if he noticed everything—yet something gentle lingered behind his serious expression.
Aware she’d forgotten what she was saying for her video and would need to resume this later, she took a small step toward her camera to stop recording.
As she did, her foot slid on the icy sidewalk.
A startled gasp escaped her as she windmilled, teetering backward.
Before she hit the ground, strong hands caught her arms.
“I’ve got you,” the man—Luke presumably—said, his voice low and steady and his brows drawn together in concern.
Amayah gave a slightly breathless laugh. “Guess that door almost claimed me as part of its history.”
His mouth curved faintly, though his gaze lingered as if assessing whether she was truly steady. “Would’ve been a dramatic origin story—for the door, not for you.”
She surprised herself with a chuckle.
His hands lingered a half second too long on her arms before he gently released her.
He straightened. “I’m Luke. Luke Cross. Sorry for interrupting. I didn’t realize you’d be filming.”
“That’s okay.” She brushed snow from her sleeve, her heart still settling. “I’m Amayah Harper.”
“I know.” A flicker of self-consciousness crossed his features, softening his otherwise composed demeanor. “I’ve followed your work for a while. The door stories. They’re . . . different. In a good way.”
Warmth touched her cheeks. “Thank you.”
Their gazes caught a moment until he glanced away and took a step back. “Anyway, sorry I’m early. I breezed through traffic. Had to park down the street, however. This one is crowded.”
“It’s only street parking in this neighborhood and, yes, it can be hard to find a space sometimes. I suppose that’s one of the downsides to this community. I didn’t realize how much I took driveways for granted.”
“It’s the small things, right?” He offered a lopsided grin. “Anyway, as you know, I’m working on a holiday series about people quietly making a difference in their communities—stories of hope that maybe wouldn’t normally make the front page. When I heard about the door project and what you’re doing here, it felt like something people would really connect with.”
Her surprise shifted into a small, polite smile. “Yes, I’m thrilled you’re here. Why don’t we go inside and get out of the cold? I’ve been craving some hot cocoa. Days like today just call for it, don’t they?”
“I’d like that.”
She grabbed her things before turning toward her door. She unlocked it, stepped inside, and?—
She immediately stilled.
Something was . . . different.
Her gaze scanned her small home.
That was when she saw it.
The back door standing slightly ajar.
