I don't need to check the security feed. I don't need to wonder who it might be. The only person who ever visits unannounced is the one man who knows he doesn't need an invitation.

My bare feet pad across the cool floor as I make my way to the door. I don't bother fixing my hair or smoothing down my sleep-rumpled clothes. There's no point. He's seen me in worse states, and he doesn't seem to care.

The door swings open.

I close the door.

He's already walking, heading deeper into the house with the confidence of a man who knows the layout by heart. Past the library, past the formal dining room, past the stairs that lead to the guest bedrooms. We both know where he's going.

I follow.

The master bedroom is exactly as I left it this morning. Sheets tangled, one of Jean's framed movie posters slightly askew on the wall, the curtains half-drawn against the mid-morning sun. It's a room that belongs to a marriage I'm not really in.

Levi stops in the center of the room and turns to face me. He sets the paper bag on the dresser, his movements precise and deliberate. Then he just stands there, those grey eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my stomach tighten.