My inner thighs ached as I settled on the floor in front of a stack of boxes. I’d spent the night with Sean again, and I had to admit…the things that man did to my body were indescribable. And exhausting.

I’d woken with a smile on my face for the third day in a row.

This time, it had been on the deep, fat couch in the entertainment center, which definitely contributed to my overall soreness. We’d started watching movies, and one thing led to another, and by the time we were done, we’d been too tired to move to his room.

Still, I was sore.

He made me aware of muscles I hadn’t known I possessed.

“When I’m done,” I told myself. “I’m taking a nice long soak in that tub in my room.”

I’d only enjoyed the deep, jetted pool a couple of times and really should take advantage of it more while I had the chance. Once I left the Downing estate, there was no telling when I’d have such an opportunity again. I certainly wouldn’t be getting an apartment with anything even remotely decadent, so I might as well enjoy it while I could.

Shoving my hair back, I focused on the boxes I’d moved within reaching distance.

Briar had mentioned she had a set of Nancy Drew books up in storage somewhere, along with some Hardy Boys. Her dad wanted them in the collection—said that her mother had taken her shopping for the books and they had ‘personal’ value. Now I just had to dig them out and tote them all downstairs.

There were a few other books Briar thought she might have packed up, and I was interested in at least one of them—a copy of The Ghost of Opalina, a children’s book by Peggy Bacon. Briar didn’t know anything about it, but if it was a first edition, that book was a veritable treasure. Some were worth over a thousand dollars, depending on the condition.

The boxes were all pristinely packed, which gave me some hope that whatever I found would be in good shape. Even if the books were only for reading and passing on, I hated seeing books in bad shape because they hadn’t been cared for properly.

Time passed as I unpacked one box, then another.

It took more than an hour before I found a box of books. Grinning, I hauled it over to the doorway to be carried downstairs. I wasn’t going to go through the boxes extensively until I was in the library. My back was already killing me as it was.

Over the next hour, I found two more boxes of books—including the one that held the copy of The Ghost of Opalina.

It wasn’t a first edition, but it was definitely one of the earlier ones, complete with dust jacket, and it was in excellent shape. It filled me with all sorts of happy thoughts just looking at it, but I didn’t clutch it to my chest and moan with delight the way I wanted to.

Of course, there was also a bittersweet ache, one of sadness.

When I was fourteen, a man came into the store, wanting to sell some books he’d found in his parents’ house after his father passed away. Some of them had been old children’s books, including a worn copy of this very book. It hadn’t been in good enough shape to fetch much money, so my parents had given it to me.

I’d fallen in love with the sweet, silly old story.

The book had burned up in the fire.

I stroked a finger down the spine and thought that maybe I’d read this copy before I left the house.

Sweat stinging my eyes, I wiped my forearm over my brow and returned to reorganizing all the boxes I’d been through. A couple others caught my eye just as I finished, and I huffed out a breath. Briar had mentioned there might be a few that she hadn’t remembered to mark.

I was tired and ready for a sandwich and something cold to drink, but I wanted this done first.

That in mind, I pried the lid off the first box.

It didn’t hold childish mementos or neatly organized rows of books.

Instead, I found clothes. Although neatly organized, they all clearly belonged to an adult female. I closed the box and moved on.

The second and third boxes held the same.

The fourth box held a hodge-podge, just as organized as the other boxes. A few magazines, most of them devoted to dance, a couple of wrapped items that I thought might be knickknacks.

Picking up one of the magazines, I flipped through it.

Something fluttered out and fell to the floor.

I bent to pick it up.

The name at the top of the printed-out piece of paper caught my eye.

My heart began to race, hard, heavy thuds against my rib cage, hard enough to knock the air out of me.

Isabel Downing.

I went to fold it up. This wasn’t any of my business.

But another line of text caught my eye.

Damn eyes.

I’d always been an insanely fast reader.

I wasn’t even trying to read it.

I just saw the words…they were right there.

Obstetrician, Gynecologist, and Family Care.

“Put it up,” I told myself, even as some sick sort of warning spread through me.

Put it up.

Instead, I found myself unfolding it.

It was one of those diagnostic sheets the doctor’s office handed out at the end of a patient visit, detailing the reason for care. They tended to be filled with all matter of obscure references—medical diagnoses that required a medical license to understand, billing codes, other data that made no sense.

There was, however, one thing that jumped out—one thing that made perfect sense.

It was a slash mark next to a test that had been performed.

A pregnancy test.

And down at the bottom…?

The words… positive pregnancy test. Return in one month for follow-up.

Isabel had been pregnant.