TREVOR HALE. Senior Development Consultant. Ardmore Commercial Group. His thumb covered the phone number.
Lauren sat down without meaning to. The towel in her lap slid to the floor.
Marcus read the card twice. Trevor Hale. He knew the name. Not well, but enough that every explanation Lauren might have offered in the first thirty seconds collapsed under prior familiarity.
Trevor had been mentioned at dinner. Trevor had been part of a commercial redevelopment project Lauren’s design firm was consulting on. Trevor had once sent a bottle of wine to their house after Lauren helped save a client presentation. Marcus had even joked that anyone who sent wine that expensive was either trying to keep Lauren on the project or apologize for something terrible. Apparently both possibilities had been too innocent.
“Caleb,” Marcus said carefully, “where exactly did you find these things?” Lauren stood fast. “Marcus, not in front of him.” He turned toward her. “I’m asking my son where he found clothes in my house.”
Caleb’s proud expression had disappeared. He tugged at one rolled sleeve. “In the chair by Mommy’s downstairs desk,” he said softly. “The watch was under it.”
Marcus nodded once. “Okay.”
Then he crouched in front of Caleb and gently removed the watch before it slipped off. His hands were steady because Caleb was watching. He slid the oversized blazer from his son’s shoulders, folded it over one arm, and took the cologne bottle from the coffee table. “Buddy, go upstairs and get your dinosaur book,” he said. “The big one Grandma gave you.”
Caleb looked worried. “Am I in trouble?” “No.” Marcus made his voice firm enough to be believed. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Lauren shut her eyes briefly.
Caleb hesitated. “Are you mad at Mommy?”
Marcus’s heart twisted. Whatever was happening, he knew immediately that his six-year-old would not be recruited into it. “This is a grown-up conversation,” he said. “Nothing about it is your fault, and you don’t have to fix it. Go get your book for me.”