4
Vivian.
There’s a certain kind of silence that settles over a house at night. It’s heavier than the hush of morning, deeper than the stillness of afternoon. It’s the kind of silence that makes you realize just how empty your life can feel, even when the rooms are full of things—flowers in a vase, neatly stacked books, half-drunk glasses of wine.
Gerald had called from Tokyo, his voice tinny and distant, full of promises to come home “as soon as this deal closes.” I’d hung up and stared at the pool for a long time, watching the moonlight ripple across the water, feeling lonelier than I wanted to admit.
That’s where Landon found me. I heard the patio door slide open behind me, then the soft pad of his bare feet on the stone.
“You couldn’t sleep either?” he asked, settling onto the cha
