Two months after their spice rack compromise, Grace assumed she knew everything about Max Walker. She was wrong.
The finding occurred on a rainy Thursday evening, when she returned home early following a quick client appointment. She anticipated Max to be preparing for the dinner rush at Meridian, but instead found their flat filled with strange calm.
"Max?" she inquired, laying her damp coat near the door.
No response. His keys were on the kitchen table, and his jacket lay across a chair. He was obviously home.
Grace followed the sound of muted voices to his room…..their room, technically, since they'd officially combined sleeping arrangements three weeks ago when his lease expired. The door was cracked open, and she could hear Max's voice, which was tight in a way she had never heard
