“My name is on the lease application.”

“Your name isn’t on the deed,” he whispered softly.

“And your perfect credit score is worthless to you without my primary signature on the accounts.”

“Please open the door,” I begged.

“It’s thirty-eight degrees out here.”

“You can come back when you’re ready to stop asking about Greenfield,” David whispered.

“And when you’re ready to sign whatever legal paper I put in front of you.”

He eased the oak door shut.