His breath smelled of cold air and peppermint.

He tucked the yellow knit blanket around Noah’s chin.

The silver Whitmore crest on his cuff link brushed the wool blanket as he turned toward Lily’s carrier.

“We’ll bring the babies back to this address at four o’clock on Sunday,” Mrs.

Vance said, signing the bottom line of her form.

“I’ll be standing right here,” I said.

Cole didn’t turn around as the elevator doors closed between us.

By eight o’clock that evening, Margaret’s living room on Seventy-Second Street was completely silent.