“Kids! Dinner’s ready!”
Amara’s mother’s voice rang through the house, warm and too cheerful for how nervous Amara suddenly felt.
She groaned and dropped the towel she’d been using to dry her hands. Her heart had started thudding the moment her mom said kids. It sounded too normal, too homey for what was about to happen. Because sitting at the same table with Leo—after everything—was already a dangerous game.
When she reached the dining room, the smell hit her first. Roasted chicken. Mashed potatoes. Her mother’s special gravy that somehow could fix any kind of bad day.
Her parents were already seated, smiling, plates gleaming under the light. And then there was Leo—sitting right across from her, sleeves rolled, hair slightly messy like he hadn’t even tried to look that good.
Of cours
