The following morning, Michael straightened the garage shelves, searching for a wrench. Behind a stack of paint cans, he found work gloves too large for Sarah and too small for himself. The leather was worn smooth, smelling faintly of cedar. He frowned. Someone had been using them recently.
Sarah appeared in the doorway just as he slipped the gloves back. Her smile was quick, her voice airy. “Leave that mess, Mike. I’ll sort it later.” She disappeared before he could answer. Her deflection was light, but it stirred the unease that had been building quietly inside him.