MIA
I wasn’t expecting music.
Soft humming drifted from the kitchen light, feminine, a tune I didn’t know.
At first I thought maybe Liam had left the TV on, but then I smelled coffee… and something else. Vanilla and cinnamon. Too sweet. Too foreign.
I padded down the hall, still half-asleep, still clinging to the thin hope that I was imagining it.
Then I saw her.
A woman stood by the stove, wearing one of Liam’s white shirts, sleeves rolled halfway up her arms, the fabric brushing her thighs. Her hair fell in loose waves down her back. She stirred a pot like she’d done it a hundred times before.
My heart dropped into my stomach.
“Who the hell are you?”
The woman turned, startled but not nearly startled enough. “Oh!” she said quickly, eyes wide and doe-like. “You must be Mia. I—I’m
