The door to the guest bedroom is shut. There isn’t any sign that Shane has been outside the bedroom. I press my ear against the door, and I can almost make out the sound of him breathing deeply. I don’t want to knock or burst in on him. He looked like he could use a good night’s sleep.

I’m being paranoid. Nobody was using my car. Nobody is out there. The garage door is closed.

Of course, there’s one way to verify this for sure. I could go down to the garage and see if there’s snow on my Toyota. If there is, somebody has been driving it very recently.

Except the more I think about it, the crazier it all seems. I don’t think I heard a car engine. It must’ve been part of my dream.

I need to calm down and go back to sleep.

_____

By the time I get out of bed in the morning, I feel truly horrible. My eyelids feel like they’re glued together, and I almost have to pry them open with my fingers. Before I even shower, I stumble down to the living room to grab a cup of coffee.

Shane is already wide awake and in the kitchen. He’s doing something at the stove while he hums to himself. I rub my eyes, watching him for a moment until he finally notices me.

“Good morning!” he says cheerfully.

“Morning.” I yawn loudly. “Sorry. I didn’t sleep well.”

“I slept great.” When he turns to look at me, the dark circles under his eyes are almost gone. I feel stupid for thinking he was wandering around town in my Toyota in the middle of the night—he was clearly getting the night of sleep I wish I had. “That bed is so comfortable.”

It’s really not. But I know how awful the mattresses are at the prison.

“I’m used to waking up early,” he explains. “So I made some breakfast if that’s okay. I also brewed coffee if you want some.”

I pour a cup of coffee from the machine. Usually, I put in cream and sugar, but this time I drink it black. “What are you making?”

“Pancakes.”

“Josh loves pancakes. Especially if you throw in a few chocolate chips.”

“Will do.”

I glance over at the pantry. “I thought we were out of pancake mix.”

“I made them from scratch, actually.”

“Really?” I didn’t even entirely know you could do that. “I’m impressed.”

“My mom and I used to make pancakes every Sunday morning,” he says. “I’m making a ton of them if you want to wake Josh up and let him know.”

He says that last part somewhat shyly. He wants more time with Josh. I get it, but he can’t force this.

“After breakfast,” he says, “I’ll go out and shovel the driveway, okay?”