Luke stiffened. “I’ll get it.”
“Luke—” Amayah started, but he was already moving.
He peered through the side window, then opened the door cautiously.
Six familiar faces stared up at him.
The Crump kids.
The tallest boy shifted awkwardly. “Uh . . . hey, Mr. Reporter Guy.”
“Is Ms. Door Lady home?” one of the little girls asked.
“I’m right here,” Amayah said as she stepped up behind him, still wearing that adorable Christmas apron she’d pulled on earlier. “Is everything alright?”
The oldest boy cleared his throat. “We was wonderin’ if you had some paper towels we could borrow.”
“Paper towels?” she repeated.
“Just a roll,” he added quickly. “We’re out.”
Amayah smiled gently. “Of course. Come on in. It’s too cold for you to be standing out there anyway.”
Their eyes lit up as they shuffled inside, drawn toward the kitchen like moths to warmth.
“What you cookin’?” one of the boys, probably eight, peered around her and asked.
“Chicken alfredo,” Amayah told him. “And it smells better than it looks.”
“That smellsamazing,” another kid declared.
Amayah paused and glanced at the kids. “Well, then you’d better stay and help us eat it.”
They exchanged eager glances before nodding in unison.
“You sure you don’t mind?” the oldest boy asked.
“Not at all. Do you think your mom would like to come also?”
“No,” he said quickly. “She’s . . . busy.”
Amayah’s eyes lifted, meeting Luke’s.
This time, the look they exchanged held more than concern.
It held the first whisper of realization.
Something about this situation didn’t quite add up.
And Luke knew it too.
CHAPTER 12
The Crump kidsfanned through Amayah’s house like a tiny, unruly storm system—shedding scarves and mismatched gloves, poking curiously at everything as if they’d suddenly stumbled into a foreign country made of warmth and light.
“Whoa,” Jonah breathed, wide-eyed as he stared at the stainless-steel door. “You got one of them fridges with the water thingy in it.”
“And a fancy coffee maker.” Benji immediately punched buttons until it beeped indignantly.
