Humming softly, I filled the soft fabric lining of the case with pockets of panties and bras, and my best T-shirts and jeans that had been unpacked. Despite the chilly weather here, the forecast in Louisiana looked perfect—a balmy seventy-nine degrees. I tossed in pajamas and a couple of old bathing suits in case there was a pool. I was tempted to try them on to see if they still fit, but I knew I’d get depressed about my weight gain. Over the last couple years, I’d put on nearly twenty pounds. Being in love and going out to eat all the time with your fiancé will do that, I guess. But it didn’t make me feel very good when I tried to squeeze into undergarments or swimwear.

I’ll just deal with trying on bathing suits when I get there, I decided, hastily.

After my clothes were all packed, I went in search of my tickets. They were in a folder, tucked away with all the airline details printed out by Mara and my cousin, Tinsley.

Where’s that folder now, then? I wondered.

As I wandered down the hall to Asher’s office, I could hear the sizzle of sausages and smell the warm scent of toast and coffee. My stomach grumbled.

Asher’s office was still a work in progress, like the rest of the house. Housed in one of the spare bedrooms, he had a single desk and chair. The desktop was littered with files and folders. I spotted the neon yellow folder with my flight itinerary in it, balanced on a crooked stack of papers on the corner of the desk. He had obviously moved the folder into his office, thinking it was one of his.

I scooped up the folder and opened it, double checking my flight time and that everything I needed was there. Glancing at the other stack of papers on his desk, I was reminded of all the paperwork and drama that had been involved in buying our new, and first, home together.

Copies of our bank statements, tax forms, and every single asset we had ever owned. The only thing the mortgage lender didn’t ask for was a picture of the inside of my underwear drawer…

I needed to go through these papers when I got back, file away the important ones and shred the duplicates.

I picked up the stack in my hands and straightened it, then set it back down neatly on the desk. I was about to turn away with my folder in hand, when my eyes drifted to a line item I hadn’t noticed before on the top sheet of one of our bank statements.

Truthfully, I’d barely paid any of it any mind, just printing and printing and printing whatever the mortgage lender asked for.