Her car wasn’t in the driveway. But it could be in the detached garage. She’d called Chloie and asked her to come stay with the twins and his mother. But then she’d left, and there hadn’t been a trace of her anywhere.Except for the lingering memories of her—stolen kisses while she was cooking, Emily on the floor, coloring with the twins or having a tea party. In his mind’s eye he could see her helping his mother, or he could relive their nights in his room.The thought that he might have lost her panicked him.Francesca looked surprised to see him. “I thought,” she started, then hesitated. “Never mind,” she continued with a smile. “I guess you’re here to see Emily?” “Did she come home?”He didn’t want her to think about this house as home. He wanted her to consider his house as her home.“She’s in the kitchen, making coffee, though I don’t know why she wants coffee. She’s already wired, upset—”“I get the picture,” he muttered.Francesca tilted her head and let him inside.
