Aviva

Ryan walks in alone, his unfamiliar companion rushing back down the stairs away from the house. He’s slightly unkempt, like he’d been to the sawmill, wood shavings sticking to his clothes and hair.

There’s a new scent being carried on his clothes–male. Familiar, yet unplaceable.

“Hey,” he says with a smile, pressing a kiss to my temple as he walks past me toward the bathroom.

I whirl, following him. “Who was that?”

He turns on the shower. “I have to make this quick. We’re leaving in a few minutes.”

“Oh–”

He rushes out of his clothes, stepping into the bathtub and pulling the curtain. I chew my lower lip...