Page 50 of The Man in the Cottage

I frown. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"Oh, forgive me. I should have introduced myself." She climbs the porch steps with her hand extended. "I'm Patricia Howe. Travis's mother. This is my husband, Richard, and our daughter, Savannah."

Travis's family. Here. At my house. While Travis is three hours away and has no idea they're coming.

I shake Patricia's hand because I don't know what else to do. "It's nice to meet you. I didn't realize—Travis didn't mention you were coming."

"It was a spur-of-the-moment thing." Patricia waves a hand dismissively. "We were in the area and thought we'd stop by, see where Travis has been hiding himself all these months. He's told us so much about you."

He has? That doesn't sound like Travis. Travis, who keeps everything close, who took weeks to tell me his real name. I can't imagine him volunteering information about me to anyone, let alone his family.

"Would you like to come in?" I ask, because my grandmother raised me with manners even when something feels off.

"We'd love that. Thank you so much."

I lead them inside, hyperaware of how the house looks through their eyes. The worn furniture, the old photographs, my laptop and coffee mug still sitting on the kitchen table. It's not fancy. It's not impressive. I wonder what they expected.

"What a charming place," Patricia says, looking around. "Very... cozy."

"It was my grandmother's house. I inherited it when she passed."

"Yes, Travis mentioned that. I'm so sorry for your loss." She says it smoothly, automatically, the way people say things they don't really mean. "It must be nice to have someone nearby to help out. Travis has always been so handy."

"He's been very helpful," I agree carefully.

Richard has wandered over to the bookshelf, examining the spines with his hands clasped behind his back. Savannah is perched on the arm of the couch, scrolling through her phone with practiced boredom. Neither of them has said a word since we came inside.

"Can I get you anything?" I ask. "Coffee? Water?"

"Coffee would be lovely." Patricia settles into my grandmother's armchair like she owns it. "We've been driving for hours. You know how it is."

I don't, actually. I have no idea where they came from or how they knew where to find me. But I go to the kitchen and start a pot of coffee, grateful for something to do with my hands.

While the coffee brews, I pull out my phone and text Travis.

Your family is here.

The response comes almost immediately. What?

Your mom, dad, and sister. They just showed up. Said they were in the area.

A pause. Then: I'm so sorry. I had no idea they were coming. What did they say?

Nothing yet. They're being friendly. It's weird.

Don't tell them anything. About us, about me, anything. I'll explain when I get back.

Okay. Should I be worried?

Another pause, longer this time. Just be careful.

That's not reassuring. But before I can respond, Patricia appears in the kitchen doorway.

"Need any help?"

"No, I've got it. Almost ready."

She leans against the counter, watching me pour coffee into mugs. "So, Kelly. Tell me about yourself. Travis hasn't shared much, and I'm just dying to know more about the woman who's captured his attention."