Chapter 2: The Dinner

The kitchen clock read six-fifty-eight when Jonah stepped off his front porch.

The heat of the day had broken, leaving behind a humid, velvet dusk that smelled of freshly cut lawn and damp cedar bark. A light breeze stirred the tops of the oak trees behind the houses. Across the short strip of manicured grass dividing their driveways, warm golden light spilled through the front windows of the Bellamy house, washing over the dark flagstones of the walkway.

Jonah knocked once.

The wood was heavy oak, solid and thick beneath his knuckles. Before the sound could fade, the door swung inward.

Mara stood framed in the foyer. She had changed out of her daytime sundress and into a wrap dress of deep, wine-red silk that fell just below her knees. The neckline dipped low enough to reveal the sharp hollow of her collarbones and the golden curve of her chest, while the fabric hugged her waist with deliberate precision. Her chestnut hair was down now, falling in soft, brushed waves over one shoulder. She smelled of night-blooming jasmine, dry cedar, and something faintly spiced—like clove.

“Right on time,” she said, her voice low and pitched just for him. “A punctual man. I should have expected that.”

“Habit,” Jonah said, his eyes lingering on the curve of her neck before he forced them up to meet her dark gaze. “Old ones die hard.”

“Good habits are worth keeping.” She stepped aside, gesturing him in with an easy sweep of her hand. As he crossed the threshold, her fingers brushed lightly across the small of his back. The contact was brief, almost accidental, but the heat of her palm burned straight through the cotton of his navy polo.

Jonah stepped into the foyer and took a slow, steadying breath.

The Bellamy house smelled nothing like his own sterile, paint-scented rooms. This house smelled rich, layered, unmistakably lived-in. Garlic, roasting lamb, and rosemary drifted from somewhere in back, blending with the fragrance of beeswax candles burning on the entryway console.

The decor was warm, substantial, and tasteful. Dark hardwood floors stretched beneath vintage Persian runners in muted shades of crimson and indigo. Wrought-iron fixtures cast soft, flickering pools of amber light across the walls.

As Mara closed the front door behind him, Jonah’s tactical instinct kicked in on pure reflex. He mapped the sightlines. Living room to the right, formal dining room to the left, kitchen corridor straight ahead.

He glanced at the gallery wall lining the main hallway.

Dozens of framed photographs hung in dark walnut frames. Mara holding a baby on a sunlit beach. Mara laughing at a garden table with an older couple—her parents, probably. Tessa as a teenager with a soccer trophy. Iris sitting quietly on a stone bench in a botanical garden.

Three generations of faces in five seconds.

No men.

Not in the formal portraits, not in the candid holiday snapshots, not in the faded black-and-white prints tucked into the corners. An entire family history composed of women and elderly relatives.

“Looking for someone?”

Mara’s voice came from right behind his shoulder. She hadn’t made a sound crossing the rug.

Jonah turned his head. She stood barely six inches away, looking up at him with an amused, knowing tilt to her mouth. Her proximity was suffocating in the best possible way. He could feel the warmth radiating from her bare arms, could see the tiny gold flecks in her dark irises.

“Just admiring the family,” Jonah said smoothly, keeping his voice steady despite the hammer of his pulse against his ribs. “You have a beautiful home.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. Her gaze drifted down to his mouth for half a second before rising back to his eyes. “It took a long time to make it feel right. A house needs the right presence to feel complete.”

Footsteps clicked on the hardwood behind them.

“Look at you, Major,” Tessa said, walking out from the dining room with a bottle of cabernet in one hand and a corkscrew in the other.

She wore high-waisted black trousers and a fitted, cropped cream sweater that left an inch of toned midriff bare when she moved. Her dark hair was tied back in a high ponytail, emphasizing the sharp, pretty lines of her jaw. She looked him up and down with obvious, undisguised interest.

“Told you he’d clean up well, Mom,” Tessa added, tossing the corkscrew lightly from hand to hand.

“Tessa, please,” Mara said with a soft laugh, though she didn’t step an inch away from Jonah. “Don’t harass the man before he’s got a drink in his hand.”

“I’m not harassing,” Tessa countered, leaning against the archway with an easy grin. “I’m admiring. You don’t see shoulders like that around Cedar Brook. Mostly just accountants with bad posture.”

“I did a lot of push-ups,” Jonah said, leaning into the dry military humor that felt safe.

“Evidently,” Tessa said, flashing a quick wink before turning toward the dining table. “Wine’s open. Come sit before the roast gets cold.”

From the kitchen doorway, Iris appeared carrying a heavy ceramic serving dish of roasted baby potatoes and asparagus. She wore a dark blue velvet dress with long sleeves and a modest boat neck, her pale skin luminous against the deep fabric. Unlike her sister’s bold, swaggering movement, Iris walked with an eerie, noiseless grace.