The suitcase hit the hardwood with a dull thud.

Chloe Bennett stood in the entryway of her mother’s house and breathed in the familiar smell of clean laundry and the faint lemon polish that always clung to the furniture. Summer light cut through the front windows in long, pale bars. Somewhere deeper in the house a faucet ran, then stopped.

Nathan Bennett came out of the kitchen wiping his hands on a towel.

He was taller than she remembered from Christmas. Broader in the shoulders. The dark gray t-shirt he wore sat close across his chest, sleeves fitting tight around his upper arms. His hair was still damp, like he...