His mouth quirks slightly, like he wants to smile but can’t fully commit to it. Whatever the hell is in his head is too loud.

I drag my fingers across the seam of my jeans, studying him in the dim light, the shifting glow of the dashboard casting soft shadows across his face. “Okay, seriously.” I tilt my head, watching him, waiting. “You gonna tell me what’s up, or are you just gonna keep white-knuckling the wheel like you’re driving straight into a war zone?”

His grip doesn’t loosen, and his jaw doesn’t relax. For a second, I think he’s not going to answer. Then, slowly he drags in a breath, keeps his eyes forward, voice too steady to be natural. “I just didn’t think I’d be bringing you here this soon.”

The way he says it makes my stomach flip, he’s not talking about bringing a girl home. He’s talking about something else. Something I don’t have the full picture of yet. I study him for a second longer.

As we pull into his driveway, his house is exactly what I expected and nothing like it at all. It’s older, but well-kept, the kind of place that feels like it’s been lived in, like it holds too many stories, like it’s seen too much. The warm glow from the porch light makes the dark exterior look softer, more inviting, but there’s still something about it that makes my stomach flip.

Maybe it’s the way Carter hesitated before getting out of the car. Maybe it’s the way he keeps subtly glancing up toward the second floor, like he’s expecting something. Maybe it’s just me, overthinking, reading too much into things like I always do.

Carter moves easier now, a little looser, like being home should be a relief, but there’s still tension lining his shoulders, still that tightness in his jaw that hasn’t gone away since we left the diner.

I step in after him, my sneakers scuffing softly against the hardwood, my gaze flicking over the space. It’s… nice. Warm, lived-in. But it’s also empty.

Carter shuts the door behind us, keys jingling as he sets them on a small table near the entrance, before turning back to me, watching my reaction like he’s bracing for something. “You wanna look around?” he asks.

I tilt my head, studying him, studying the way he’s watching me too carefully, like he needs to see my reaction before he decides how to act next. I shrug, shifting my weight. “You offering the full tour?”

One side of his mouth lifts, but it doesn’t quite fully form. “Something like that.”

I let him lead the way.