Dinner ended faster than it began, the air thick with warmth and an unspoken sentimentality.
The long wooden table was scattered with remnants of Thanksgiving, a golden-brown turkey, its carcass picked apart, half-eaten stuffing, cranberry sauce smeared across plates, and empty wine glasses reflecting the soft glow of the chandelier above.
The scent of roasted herbs and spiced pumpkin lingered in the air, wrapping the room in a cozy embrace.
Maybe it was the family atmosphere, but Frida found herself sparing glances at Laz. It was ridiculous, the way her eyes kept dragging back to him, but she couldn't help it.
There was something odd in his back pocket. A thin, red edge barely peeking out. It gnawed at her curiosity, setting her on edge.
Was it a note?
A game?
A warning?
Her fingers twitched with the need to snatch it away.
She told herself it was nothing. A stupid joke. But the more she stared, the deeper she fell into wondering.
