Chapter 32

• The house was quiet except for the hum of the old fridge and the soft hush of cicadas through the cracked kitchen window. The screen door creaked once when the breeze caught it — that same soft squeak he’d fixed just to hear her say you did good, Walker. But she hadn’t said good tonight. Not with her mouth. Not with her hands. Not yet.
• Sadie drifted through the warm hush barefoot — that same old shirt hangin’ off one shoulder, hem ridin’ high on her thighs every time she reached for somethin’ she didn’t even need. She’d been half-tucked over the counter for ten minutes — talkin’ about inventory, about new pie labels, about absolutely anything that’d keep her pressed against that cool wood while he watched her hips sway like she didn’t know what she was doin’.
• But she knew.