Clean counters. No dishes in the sink. A single coffee maker and a toaster. The refrigerator had nothing on it—no magnets, no photos, no grocery lists.
It looked like a show home.
Like no one actually lived here.
"Your house is nice," Grace said, taking a bite of the toast.
She looked at him. At the tension in his shoulders. The way his fingers tapped against his mug like he wanted to say something but didn't know how.
Luke Bennett—unshakeable, confident Luke Bennett—looked nervous.
"I'm glad you're here," Luke said at last. "I know this isn't—But I'm glad you're here.”
She wanted to say something cutting. Something that would remind them both that he'd lost the right to be glad about anything involving her.
But she was tired.
And his coffee was perfect.
She took another bite instead of asking the question sitting sharp and dangerous in her throat:
Wasn't I good enough for this before?
He glanced at the clock. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll be ready to drive you.”
It took her a second to understand.
“Luke,” she said carefully, “I usually walk.”
He paused. Just a fraction. “Right. I know. But until you’re safe, I’ll be driving you.”
She stared at him.
The thought hadn’t even occurred to her. Her house was five blocks from the school. Walking was habit. Routine. Something she’d never had to think about.
Being here, on this side of town, changed the math.
“You don’t have to?—”
“I do,” he said simply. Grace hesitated.
“And after school,” he added. “I’ll pick you up.”
Her breath caught.
“Luke,” she said, “you can’t just?—”
He looked at her. “Until this is done,” he said, softer now, “you’re not walking alone.”
Grace swallowed. She nodded once.
“Okay,” she said.
Grace steppedout of the police cruiser and onto the curb in front of the school.
She shut door and it closed with a solid, unmistakablethunk. For a brief, ridiculous second she wished Luke had dropped her off around the corner instead.
Too late now.
