Jojo’s P.O.V.
I wiped the last plate dry, stacking it with the others on the counter. The kitchen smelled like lavender dish soap and the faint remnants of dinner, the warmth of the home pressing against me in a way that made me feel entirely too comfortable. Too at home.
And that was dangerous.
I had to go. Now. Before I did something stupid—like decide I liked being here too much and just never go back home again. Raven was upstairs putting Lucy to bed, and that was my cue to leave. I was supposed to have left fifteen minutes ago, but the dishes were there, and I had convinced myself that doing them was a good way to create distance. Ha. Yeah. Like cleaning someone else’s kitchen was a solid escape strategy. A+ logic, Jojo.
I took a deep breath, untied the dish towel from my waist, a
