Ginn and Tonic are at the door, Ginn leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, Tonic beside her, the grocery bag at her feet. She’s picking at her nails again. I unlock the door and push it open, and Wickham reaches in over my head to hold it as I tug the cart in.

“Make yourselves at home.” I tote the cart to the kitchen. “You want beer or wine?” I scan the counter, then remember the wine ended up in my room last night. I bailed on March of the Penguins about thirty minutes in and paired my time on the Meryton file with a tasty cabernet.

I turn and almost smack into Tonic, who holds out the bag she carried in. “Thanks.” I place it on the counter. “That wine is in my room. Do you mind getting it while I start putting things away? It should be on the desk.” Tonic nods, turning to go.

“I’ll get it!” Wickham offers, appearing in the doorway with Ginn, and Tonic halts.

“On the desk,” I repeat. He gives me a thumbs-up, disappearing down the hall.

Tonic watches him go, then leans in the doorway next to Ginn. “How is Jane?”

“Better,” I say. “It’s really sweet of you to offer to take him out.”

Tonic sends a quick glance to Ginn, who doesn’t return it, already walking toward Jane’s room. Tonic’s shoulders drop, and she chews at her index finger.

I wonder if Wickham has disturbed their dynamic. “You all right?”

Tonic flinches, then gives me an emphatic nod. “Yeah, totally. Just, um, thinking about Jane.”

While I’m not sure I believe her, I nod and fetch a pair of wineglasses from the cabinet. I point toward the sink. “The other two are on the drying rack,” I say, then frown. “What is taking him so long on that wine? Wickham,” I holler, and scoot past Tonic. “You get lost in here?”

“Sorry!” Wickham stands beside my desk, giving me a guilty smile. “I didn’t get to take in the decor when I was in here last time. Your design skills are no joke.”

I hug my arms, though I appreciate the praise.

Wickham leans in, checking out some family photos above my desk, but his eyes keep darting to the surface, then over to me. He laughs. “I’m sorry—” He holds up the five-by-seven of the pic from the Four of Clubs. It’s officially become my bookmark for the Meryton file, which is open to the page I was looking over before I left for work this morning. “It’s such an amazing shot.”

I laugh, inured to any potential embarrassment at his seeing it. “Thank you. It was a fluke, but I’m happy with it. Have you seen the one Ginn and Tonic took?”

“Ginn has a poster-sized version in her entryway.”

“Just her?” I ask. “They don’t live together?”