Keith

I load the last of Hope’s bags into the back of the SUV, slamming the trunk with a satisfying thud. She’s double-checking her tote by the porch, flipping through it like she’s smuggling state secrets and not just a travel mug and three backup lip balms.

“You ready?” I ask.

She looks up, eyes bright. “Yeah, just—wait. Where’s my phone charger?”

“Front pocket,” I say without even checking. She checks anyway. Finds it. Smiles like I just read her mind.

I walk toward the driver’s side, but a familiar scent catches on the wind—cedar and adrenaline. Ben.

“Hey,” he calls, jogging up the gravel drive.

I meet him halfway,...