Chapter Eleven
“Destination on your left.”
Faith looked over at the two-story house she pulled up to, foursquare in style, so called because traditionally the four rooms on the main and second floors were stacked perfectly on top of each other. The front door was recessed back into the shadows of the covered front porch that ran the length of the house. A detached garage sat back from the house at the end of a long asphalt driveway.
There was no car in the driveway, nor one parked in front. Faith checked the address Wyatt had texted her against the one on the mailbox, and sure enough, it was the right place. She reached for the key, about to turn off the ignition, when the front wood-and-glass door opened and Wyatt emerged, dressed for a casual fun day and carrying a large picnic basket
