21 NoraStill wearing the blazer and skirt she’d donned for court this morning, Nora curled up on Kent’s chocolate leather couch under an afghan of pastel squares crocheted by his mother. Her taste buds cheered by the robust flavors of grilled T-bone steak and Merlot, she felt herself start to thaw.
As soon as they’d arrived at Kent’s snug cedar log home—before unpacking the beef and wine picked up on the way—he’d swiped a dust cloth over the butcher-block countertops, erasing the only sign that the dwelling had been uninhabited for the past month.
Welcoming, warm, and clean, his hillside house near Medical Lake telegraphed the same corny message woven into the coco fiber mat by the front door: Home Sweet Home
The sun had set, and the peeled, polished, and rounded tree trunk walls glowed
