Marie’s POV

The next evening the house was quiet except for the bubbling sound of the soup on the stove and the ticking of the kitchen clock. The air smelled of onions, garlic, and the faint sweetness of carrots, and I was standing by the counter with the knife in my hand, trying to focus on chopping vegetables instead of the thoughts spinning in my head.

That was when Jamie walked into the kitchen.

He looked tired, his hair slightly messy, his shirt clinging to him like he had been running between classes all day. His college bag was hanging from his shoulder, and he set it down by the...