Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Izzy reached for it, squinting at the screen.
Caitlin
Her smile came instantly.
She opened the message.
Caitlin:How’s everything at the gallery? Has Marcus figured out you are the gallery yet?
Izzy pressed her lips together, a quiet laugh building in her.
“Oh, this is terrible,”she whispered.
Terrible. And perfect.
She typed back:
Izzy:I think he’s hanging on by a thread. You may need to prepare for a full emotional collapse.
The reply came fast.
Caitlin:I knew it. The second I’m not there with you, everything goes to hell.
Izzy shook her head, smiling, a familiar ache tightening in her.
If you only knew.
She looked toward the window, like she might somehow see Caitlin from here.
Right here. Same town. Same morning. No idea—and Caitlin loved surprises.
Izzy:I’ve got it handled. You enjoy your peaceful mountain life.
She hit send and set the phone down, a quiet, bubbling excitement settling in her.
This was going to be worth it.
A floorboard creaked faintly somewhere down the hall.
Izzy went still.
Cabinet doors, unhurried. The soft clink of something set on a counter.
Coffee.
She pushed the covers back and slid out of bed, the cool floor grounding her as she crossed to her bag.
She pulled out the obscenely expensive jeans she’d sworn she wouldn’t need and a soft dove-gray sweater that looked casual and tailored at the same time. Even dressed down, she refused todo it cheaply. She dressed quickly, running her fingers through her hair enough to make it presentable—by her standards, that still meant movie-poster hair.
Then she paused at the door.
Listened.
The house wasn’t quiet anymore.
It felt… lived in.
She opened the door and stepped into the hallway.
