“Hey, Leah,” Vance said.

He put the greasy plates down on the kitchen island and immediately rubbed the back of his neck with a balled-up paper napkin.

“Didn’t hear the cab pull in.

Chloe’s grabbing a quick nap upstairs before her dinner meeting tonight.”

“Hello, Vance,” I said.

“We picked out new patio furniture for the backyard,” Vance said, pointing his plastic fork toward the sliding door.

“Glass-top table, seats eight.