I didn’t know Marcus was house-sitting when I came home early from college. Backpack slung over one shoulder, keys jingling in the suburban silence, I expected an empty house.
Instead, the kitchen light was on, spilling warm yellow glow into the hallway. I paused in the doorway, heart skipping a beat for no reason I could name. Dad was out of town on a business trip, and Mom was visiting her sister in Florida. Who could be here at this hour?
I stepped inside, kicking off my sneakers, the cool tile sending a shiver up my bare legs. The house smelled like fresh coffee and something earthier, sawdust, maybe, or sweat. Familiar. Too familiar.
And then I saw him: Marcus Hayes, Dad’s best friend since high school. He was standing at the counter, shirtless, pouring a glass of water, his bac
