“Deck. He’s pretending to chop wood.”
“Pretending?”
“Mostly staring at a log like it owes him an apology.”
I hugged my coat tighter.
“Does he know I’m here?”
“Nope.”
“Is he going to hate you?”
“Probably.” Jace stepped aside. “Worth it.”
Inside, the house went suspiciously quiet.
Too quiet.
A woman’s voice whispered, “Is that her?”
Another voice, male, whispered, “Oh, this is about to get good.”
Jace turned his head. “No one be weird.”
A chorus of extremely unconvincing denials answered him.
I looked at him.
He winced. “My family has boundary issues.”
“Apparently that’s a theme this holiday season.”
He laughed. Then sobered. “You sure?”
No.
Absolutely not.
“Yes.”
He pointed down a hallway. “Through the kitchen. Back door. And Texas?”
I looked back.
“Don’t let him act too cool. He’s been checking his phone every six minutes.”
That nearly undid me.
I nodded once and walked through the house.
The kitchen smelled like cinnamon, coffee, and something baking. People pretended not to watch me from the living room. I saw a gray-haired woman with kind eyes, two teenage boys in ski socks, a man holding a plate of cookies midair, and Hannah already whispering something to another woman near the island.
Subtle, this family was not.
The back door creaked when I opened it.
Cold rushed in.
