My palm flattens on the door, as if I might sense his presence through the wood.
As I prepare to knock a third time, the neighboring door opens, and a man with tousled hair peers out, blinking in thebright light of the hallway. “He’s not there. Left about half an hour ago.”
My hand drops to my side. “Did you see which way he went?”
“No.” The man leans on his doorframe, arms crossing over a faded concert T-shirt. “But he seemed upset.”
A weight settles in my stomach, heavy as a stone. “Did he say where he was going?”
“Nope.” The neighbor yawns, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “And I didn’t ask, so can you stop causing a racket? Some of us are trying to sleep.”
“Sorry. And thanks for the information,” I tell the neighbor, already turning toward the elevator.
The man calls something after me, but his words fade as I rush away.
At this time of night, there’s only one place Leif would go, and I left Emily at home alone.
Chapter Thirty-One
Emily
The plate slips beneath my fingers in the soapy water, almost cracking against the sink’s edge. Behind me, the table has been cleared, the stew moved to the fridge, and the leftover sourdough slipped into a beeswax-lined bread bag.
Mixie weaves between my ankles with persistent meows.
“I already fed you dinner,” I tell her, and she responds by rubbing her black fur more insistently along my calf. “But if you’re patient, I’ll give you some treats.”
Water drips from my hands as I reach for a towel. Through the kitchen window, snow falls in thick flakes, heavier than the forecast predicted. The thermometer outside reads twenty-eight degrees, and my thoughts drift to Jared driving through this weather without proper snow tires.
A knock at the door startles me, and the towel drops to the floor as my hand flies to my throat. Jared wouldn’t knock. Could it be the police? Did the old truck slide off the road and injure him? I never should have let him leave with it snowing out.
I rush to the front door, peering through the side window. The shape outside stands tall and still, snow gathering on broad shoulders. Not Jared’s silhouette.
Then I spot the sedan sitting in the driveway, snow gathering on its hood, and my breath catches. After canceling dinner, after all the unanswered texts, after Jared went out into this storm to find him, Leif shows up at my door.
My phone sits on the counter behind me. I should text Jared, tell him Leif’s here, that he doesn’t need to keep searching. But what if he’s driving right now? The distraction of a notification could be dangerous on these roads.
Mixie meows louder, pawing at the door as if she recognizes Leif’s scent through the wood. I straighten my blouse, tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and pull the door open.
Cold air rushes inside, carrying snowflakes that melt on the wooden floor. Leif stands rigid on the threshold, his coat dusted with snow that turns to water droplets under the porch light.
His face remains stiff, the muscles around his mouth tight. “May I come in?”
“Of course.” I step back, opening the door wider.
He enters, but pauses in the foyer, appearing uncertain.
“Would you like to sit?” I gesture toward the couch, where blankets lie folded from when Jared and I sat talking earlier.
“No.” He remains by the door, jacket still on, hands at his sides. “This won’t take long.”
The words settle between us like stones dropped in still water. Ripples of understanding spread outward. He hasn’t changed his mind about dinner, nor come to explain his absences.
He’s come to end whatever has been growing between us.
Mixie winds around his ankles, her tail curled in question marks, but he doesn’t bend to pet her. Another sign.
“Is this a conversation we can have, or have you already decided?” I ask with the steadiness gained from years of leading construction crews through crises.