“What did you do with everything you took out of here?”

His eyes slant away from mine as his lips thin. That look, oh, I know it. I’ve seen it. He’s getting ready to lie. But about what?

“I had St. Francis thrift come and pick it up. I didn’t think to grab a receipt for you, but I guess you could deduct it on your taxes anyway.”

I shake my head. My skin feels clammy. I swallow hard, my mouth dry. The place is empty. All of my things, given away. Taken away. If I hadn’t moved all my boxes out, he’d have gotten rid of those, too. And I know it’s just stuff, only things I didn’t even use, but it’s always been about having them, and I’m ashamed that I know this and still can’t stop myself from feeling the overwhelming rush of fury that they’re gone.

“What about the bedroom? Did you clear that out, too?”

“Not yet. Gotta have a place to sleep until I get my stuff in here from my storage unit.”

This is another lie, based on the way his expression twists. How do I still know him so well after all this time? I know he’s not telling me the truth, but I don’t know what, exactly, he’s lying about.

“Relax, Jewelann. You’re so tense.”

I straighten up, squaring my shoulders. “I don’t need any advice from you, okay? You know what, while I’m here, I do need the rent.”

Christian looks apologetic, but this expression is also a lie. “I gave Ken the receipts for the stuff I’ve done. It all evened out. Didn’t he tell you that?”

“That’s not going to work for me. I need the money now.”

A sigh. He shrugs. Runs a hand through his dark gold hair. He knows how he looks, so casual. So sexy. I am unmoved.

I wish I was unmoved.

“I’ve been so busy with the hospital, and then taking care of this place … I’m sorry, Jewelann. Most of my stuff’s still in storage. I don’t even know where my checkbook is. Can you come by tomorrow? Tell you what, I’ll even make you dinner. How about it?”

“Too busy partying, you mean.”

“You’re always invited, you know.”

“I thought you were going to leave me alone.”

He smiles. “I thought you wanted me to. Yet here you are.”

The tension that crackles between us is familiar, but it doesn’t feel good.

“I came over to ask you about the concert Eli says you’re taking him to. That’s all.”

“You could have texted me about that,” Christian says.

Beth and Lisa were right. Ken and Christian share the same dark wheat-colored hair, and there’s a similarity in the shapes of their jaws, but it’s the way they move and stand, the way they talk, that’s so much alike. I don’t want to think that I might have married my husband because of how much he reminded me of Christian, but there’s no denying that I definitely seem to have a type.