The door swung open and Enzo stepped inside, suit jacket draped over one arm. The fabric felt warm from his body heat. He started toward his room when he caught sight of Lokie at the dining table. She sat there staring at nothing, eyes distant, shoulders slumped just slightly.
It wasn’t only tonight. The past several days she had been like this—cold, checked out, barely present. Nothing like the woman he had married, the one who lived for pushing his buttons and watching him react.
Enzo bit the inside of his lip. The urge to speak rose in his throat, but he pushed it back down. Whatever was eating at her wasn’t his problem. He looked away and took a step toward the hallway. His legs felt heavy, like they were dragging through mud. He stopped.
Without turning around, he asked, “You okay?
