Page 55 of Peak’s Code

“You owned it?” he asked.

“For six years,” she said.

“What was it like?”

“Small,” she breathed. “I didn’t have eight bedrooms.”

“That isn’t a description.”

She gave him a look. “It had two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a kitchen that desperately needed updating, along with a porch that tilted slightly to the left.”

“Sounds fixable,” he said.

“You would say that.”

“I could fix it,” he insisted.

She shook her head. “It’s too late now. I sold it so that I could keep looking for Wren.”

The loss in her voice made him regret the casual remark. “I know.”

“Wren practically lived there.”

“She had her own room?” he asked.

Maeve nodded. “The second bedroom was supposed to be an office, but she kept leaving things there. Clothes, books, and computer parts.” She laughed at the memory.

“So it became hers.”

“Eventually.” Maeve smiled faintly. “She painted one wall bright yellow without asking.”

Peak laughed. “How bright?”

“Painfully bright,” she said.

“You leave it that color?” he asked.

“I threatened to paint over it.”

“But you didn’t,” he guessed.

“No.” Her expression turned distant. “After she disappeared, I couldn’t go into that room. I kept the door closed for months.”

Peak squeezed her hand. “Selling the house must have been hard.”

“It was worse staying there.” Every room would have held a memory. Every silence would have reminded her Wren was gone. That was something Peak understood. He had remained in his family home after his grandfather died, surrounded by the man’s books, furniture, and half-finished arguments. For months, he’d expected to hear his grandfather’s footsteps in the hall. Maybe Maeve had been braver than he was because she had left. He had stayed and called it loyalty.

“Where will you go after this?” he asked.

Maeve’s eyes moved toward him. “I don’t know.” The answer bothered him, not because she lacked a plan, but because some part of him had already pictured her at his house. He could see her working beside him in the unused library, arguing with him in the kitchen, and standing barefoot on the back porch while the sun rose over the water. He had known her for two days. He was losing his damn mind, but he didn’t care.

“Come to my house,” he said.

Maeve blinked. “What?”

“Come stay with me,” he said. “In fact, it might be just the place that we need to lay low. No one would find us there.”

She sat up slightly. “Is your house secure?”