Chapter 13
Luke leaned against the counter, surveying the disaster the Crumps left behind—sauce splatters, puddles on the floor, chairs scooted at impossible angles.
He was concerned for the kids and their well-being. But he was also concerned for Amayah.
She appeared burdened by all of this. And that, on top of the man stalking her, was a lot for anyone to take on.
“You barely touched your dinner,” he said quietly nodding toward her plate still on the table. “Why don’t you eat while I clean up?”
“I’m not that hungry. Besides, Maisie sneezed all over my plate.” She offered a faint smile.
That single statement eroded another piece of his carefully constructed skepticism.
He was beginning to think Amayah was the real deal. He’d barely remembered his story objective while he’d been here tonight. He had glanced once at the table when he first walked into the kitchen, and he’d noticed the folder was now gone—the one that had held the real estate contract.
And he honestly didn’t even care.
“What’s their story?” he asked as he rolled up his sleeves to do dishes. “I mean, I know you told me a little. But what else do you know?”
Amayah hesitated before saying, “I know their mom has been raising them alone since I moved in. She works at a local diner when she can. Struggles when she can’t.
I’ve offered help more than once, but she’s always said no.
I tried to bring them groceries before, but she rejected that. Pride, maybe. Or fear.”
“You think she’s okay?” he pressed as he dunked some plates into the soapy water.
“I don’t know.” Her gaze softened as she grabbed a dishtowel. “But I know the kids deserve better than they’re getting.”
A pause stretched between them.
For several minutes, they washed dishes in silence. Luke washed, she dried and put away.
When they finished, she turned toward him. “Look, it’s been a long day, and I know you have other things to do. Even worse, I’m still not sure you got what you needed for your story.”
He shrugged, rocking his head from side to side. “Maybe I didn’t. But I had a good day.”
She grinned. “So did I. Tomorrow I’m profiling another door across town. You’re welcome to join me . . . if you still want the interview.”
Logic screamed that he should walk away. Take the information he had and work with it. Or that he should forget about this article and move on to another.
“I’ll be there.” His words surprised even him.
“Perfect.”
He pointed over his shoulder. “But you’re right. I should probably go now.”
“It is late.”
He pulled on his coat and hesitated near the doorway, unspoken words clawing at his chest. Part of him wanted to confess. But that would be stupid.
Before he could say anything, Amayah spoke.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, eyes kind, unguarded.
Luke nodded, unable to trust his voice.
Outside, the cold sliced through him.
For the first time in a very long while, regret followed him down the steps like a shadow.
What if Amayah wasn’t the one being two-faced? What if it was him?
Amayah’s house fell into the quiet following something meaningful—the echo of laughter and warmth still lingering in the air after the Crump kids had bundled into their coats and disappeared into the snowy night.
Even Luke’s presence still hummed faintly against her walls, like a chord not fully resolved.
She stood in the living room, her gaze drifting toward the front door he’d walked out not ten minutes earlier.
She hadn’t expected him to linger—hadn’t expected the way his eyes softened when she laughed, or the way something strangely pained flickered across his face when he’d said good night. Almost like regret.
Or guilt.
Had she imagined that?
She told herself she had.
Luke had been kind. Patient. Protective with the Crump kids in a way that tugged at her heart. And yet . . . something in him was held tight. Something he wasn’t saying.
Her stomach tightened with a quiet, unwelcome ache.
She knew the sensation too well.
Her ringing phone pulled her from her thoughts. It was Miranda.
She put the phone to her ear. Before she could even speak, Miranda did.
“Today was so magical, wasn’t it?” Miranda started. “You did great.”
“I’m glad you liked it.” Amayah sat on the couch and pulled her blanket over her legs. This old house could be drafty at times.
“I loved it! And . . . I have to say, Luke was much more handsome than I thought he’d be. Not only that, but the two of you have some great chemistry.”
Her throat went dry. “Do we?”
“Yes, absolutely. You two have chemistry you could bottle and sell.”
Amayah’s eyebrows shot up at the statement.
Before she could respond, Miranda continued. “How is the interview going?”
“Slowly. We keep getting interrupted.”
“It was good to see you looking so happy.”
She paused. “I don’t usually look happy?”
“You do . . . you really do. That’s not what I meant. This was just a different kind of happiness . . . the kind that’s not focused on other people. When was the last time you did something for yourself? Certainly not when you bought that house.”
Miranda hadn’t approved of this purchase any more than her mom had. “Making other people happy does make me happy.”
“I know. And I love that about you. But . . . you deserve some good stuff in your life also. Anyway, I’m not going to argue with you. I just wanted to touch base and say good job.”
They talked a few more minutes before ending the call.
As Amayah sat on her couch, her mind drifted—uninvited, unwelcome—back to a different doorway. A different man.
Isaac Harding had walked into her life at the height of her career in marketing. He’d been gentle, funny, and charming. They’d talked about forever in soft tones and long drives, dreaming up futures made of tiny houses and cinnamon-scented holidays.
But none of it had been real.
While Amayah had been sketching out their future, Isaac had been slipping through wrong doorways—hidden ones. Doors lined with addictions she didn’t see until they’d coiled around him too tightly for him to escape.
By the time she knew the truth, he was drowning in choices he couldn’t undo. The way he’d treated her had changed.
He’d become the worst version of himself, someone she hardly recognized. Even worse was the denial he’d been in about it all.
Their relationship had suffered, but Amayah had been determined to help him. She’d excused his bad behaviors. Told herself this was a phase. Ignored the things he said when he wasn’t himself.
Then one night, he’d gotten behind the wheel after drinking.
He didn’t hurt anyone else.
But he hadn’t survived the crash.
A door she’d believed would lead to a shared future had turned into one she could never walk through again.
Making it worse was the news article that had been written afterward . . .
She pressed her hand to her chest, steadying the quiet ache that rose whenever she thought of him—not just grief but humiliation. Confusion. The sting of realizing she’d loved a version of Isaac that didn’t truly exist.
She refused to misread another person that way.
She refused to be fooled by charm again.
But most of all, she refused to give in to the feeling that she’d betrayed herself by trusting someone she shouldn’t have.
Her gaze drifted down the small hallway to the extra bedroom she’d set up like an office.
That was where she kept all the information on her secret project. More details needed to be finalized before she told anyone what she was doing. Her plan was risky, but something she’d always dreamed about. The risk would be worth the reward. That was what she told herself.
She looked around her living room. It was a testimony of paths she’d taken—and some that she hadn’t.
The Christmas tree glowed softly in the corner, spilling gold light across the floor. She wrapped her arms across her chest, letting the warmth settle over her even as something inside her felt strangely untethered.
Twenty-seven.
No husband.
No children.
No tidy, predictable life.
And yet . . . her heart still reached for something she couldn’t quite name.
“I thought life would look different by now,” she whispered.
Her eyes drifted back to the door Luke had walked through.
And for reasons she didn’t understand—and didn’t entirely want to—Luke Cross unsettled her more than any stranger ever had.