Luke didn’t knock this time. He banged.


Not hard enough to break the door, just enough to rattle it. Just enough to be heard over the cheap stereo system inside blasting some remix of something.


She opened the door with a grin and a drink in her hand.


“Luke,” Claire said, like he was a late RSVP to her private party. Her hair was curled, her makeup flawless. “Wasn’t expecting you.”


“Do not flatter me,” Luke said, stepping inside anyway. “You texted me ten times and left three voicemails.”


“I figured you’d show up eventually,” she said with a shrug, walking barefoot toward her kitchen island. “You always do.”


There...