"The blue one is objectively superior."
"It's my mug."
"It was your mug. Now it's our mug."
He groaned, but he was smiling. "This is what I signed up for, isn't it? A lifetime of mug theft and unsolicited wisdom."
"And incredible sex," she added.
"And incredible sex," he agreed. "That part's non-negotiable."
They lay there as full dark settled over the cottage, wrapped up in each other and the quiet certainty that whatever came next, they'd face it together.
Chapter Twenty
Brian knew something was wrong before they reached the front door.
It was subtle. The kind of thing most people would miss. But twelve years as an EMT had trained him to notice details that didn't fit, small wrongnesses that signaled bigger problems. The porch light was off. He'd turned it on before they left for dinner at Hank and Bree's place. He was certain of it.
"Wait," he said, putting his arm out to stop Tessa on the walkway.
She looked at him, her expression shifting from relaxed to alert in the space of a heartbeat. "What is it?"
"The light's off."
"Maybe the bulb burned out."
"Maybe." But he didn't believe it. The bulb was new, replaced just last week. And there was something else, something he couldn't quite name. A feeling at the back of his skull, the same instinct that had saved his life more than once on calls that went sideways.
"Stay here."
"Brian."
"I mean it. Stay here until I check."
He approached the door slowly, ears straining for any sound from inside. The cottage was dark, which was normal. They'd left at six, and it was past ten now. But the quiet felt wrong. Too complete. Even the usual creaks and settles of the old house seemed muted.
The door was locked. That was something. He turned the key and pushed it open, reaching inside to flip the light switch.
The living room looked normal at first glance. Couch where they'd left it. TV remote on the coffee table. Books stacked on the end table by Tessa's reading chair.
Then he saw the kitchen.
The cabinet doors were open. All of them. Not thrown wide, not ransacked, but deliberately, methodically opened. The drawers, too. Even the pantry door stood ajar, revealing the neat rows of canned goods and dry pasta that Tessa had organized last week.
"What the hell," he breathed.
"Brian?" Tessa's voice came from the doorway. She'd followed him despite his warning. He couldn't blame her. "Oh my God."
"Don't touch anything." His voice came out sharper than he intended. "I need to check the rest of the house."
He moved through the cottage room by room, his pulse steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. The bathroom looked undisturbed. The spare room, the one that used to be Tessa's before she'd moved into his bed, showed the same eerie pattern. Closet door open. Dresser drawers pulled out but not emptied.
The bedroom was the worst.
Someone had gone through everything. The nightstand drawers. The closet. Tessa's suitcase was still tucked in the corner because she hadn't gotten around to storing it in the garage. Her clothes had been touched, moved, handled by hands that had no right to be there. The violation of it made his jaw clench so hard his teeth ached.
Nothing was taken. That was the strangest part. His watch sat on the dresser where he'd left it. Tessa's laptop was still on the desk. The emergency cash he kept in a shoebox on the top shelf of the closet was untouched.
