The knock came just as the coffee finished brewing, low and sure against Ryder’s front door. Isobel opened it to find Celeste Hayes standing there in a linen blouse the color of cream, sunlight catching in the silver streaks of her hair. She smiled wide, but her eyes—sharp, knowing—took in everything in an instant.
“Good morning, Isobel,” she said, voice warm as a late-summer breeze.
Panic flared across Isobel’s face like a match strike. “Celeste, we didn’t— I mean—”
Celeste took her hands, squeezing lightly. “Honey, breathe. I know.”
“You… know?” Isobel’s voice caught on the word.
“Ryder told me you’re different from the others. And…” her gaze drifted over Isobel’s crumpled silk dress, “judging from the look of you, I’d say you fell asleep in that.”
Isobel exhaled a breath she didn’
