“You probably shouldn’t hold that up as preferred practice,” I teased.

He laughed and pulled me into his lap, mumbling about how he preferred to practice a little something different at the moment.

The memory left me all smiles as I hopped out of the car and waved. From all appearances and based on my talks with Sasha, she was doing and living exactly the way she should. She rose up on her toes, kissed Cole, and then jogged over to me.

“Hey, Abby. Cole and I were just going over what we wanted to do with the yard in the spring.” She didn’t wait for a response, but motioned me to follow her into the house. “I asked you to come over to look at something. We were in the attic a few days ago. We were supposed to be cleaning it out, but Cole got inspired by the exposed beams and then he found some rope and, well . . .”

“I’ve cleaned out an attic or two in my day,” I assured her.

“The previous owner’s left so much stuff up there.” She led me to the living room. “Anyway, once we stopped fooling around, we went through some old trunks we found. I opened one that had a ton of books in it and, of course, I thought of you.”

An old trunk sat in the middle of the living room. My fingers itched to open it and look inside.

“Is that it?” I asked.

“Yes, and Cole said he’d put it in your car, but first I wanted to show you these.”

I looked at the items spread out on the table. “Magazines?”

“Yes.”

I picked one up. “Why?” It was a fashion magazine from over fifteen years ago. The cover model was pretty, but her look was dated. Wait. I squinted my eyes. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Your boss, Meagan,” Sasha confirmed. “And get this. Check out the photo credit.”

My eyes drifted to the tiny print at the bottom of the cover. “Holy fucking shit.”

“That’s him, isn’t it? I remember Cole saying he did photography on the side.”

“Luke DeVaan. That’s him all right.”

“So, now we know part of the story,” Sasha said. “And I’m willing to bet this is just the tip of the iceberg.”