He went through the ground floor methodically, returning everything to its exact position. He had a good memory for how rooms looked. He'd always been able to walk into a space and remember how it had been arranged before. Right now that was useful.
When he was satisfied, he carried his duffel bag to the front entryway and set it down by the door. He looked at it. Jacket on the hook. Boots on the mat. Bag by the door, slightly scuffed from the airline hold, one zipper still open from when he'd grabbed something on the car ride over.
Just arrived this morning. Early car service from downtown. Roads were clearer than they said.
He looked at the entryway for another moment and decided it was right.
Then he went to make breakfast.
He knew how Jade functioned the morning after a night that felt like too much - or more precisely, a night that felt too good to be anything but guilty. She would lie in bed and go through it, piece by piece, quietly and thoroughly, and by the time she finally came downstairs she'd have her careful face on. The composed, neutral expression that was supposed to look normal and instead looked like a person bracing for a verdict. He'd seen it too many times to count, and he had never once figured out how to argue her out of it directly. She was too stubborn for direct.
Better to interrupt before she got all the way there.
He made scrambled eggs and toast, found the strawberry jam at the back of the refrigerator, added coffee and the small pitcher of cream she liked. Loaded the tray and carried it upstairs.
She was still in bed. Lying on her side, facing the window, the blanket pulled up to her shoulder. She turned her head when he pushed the door open with his foot.
He looked at her. She looked at the tray. Then at him. Something moved across her face that wasn't guilt and wasn't the neutral mask - something smaller than both of those, something she didn't quite manage to put away in time.
"You didn't have to-" she started.
"I know." He set the tray on the nightstand. "Eat first."
He'd already been into the bathroom. Her clothes were laid out on the counter - clean underwear, her softest jeans, the dark green turtleneck from the top shelf of the closet. He'd looked at the turtleneck specifically and thought about it for a moment, and then thought: yes, definitely the turtleneck.
"Wear the green sweater," he said, moving toward the door. "The high-neck one."
A pause from the bed. "Blake."
"It's cold," he said. "Just wear it."
He walked out before she could say anything else. He heard her make a sound behind him that was probably exasperation. He was fine with that.
Jade took her coffee into the bathroom and turned on the light.
She turned around to look at herself in the mirror.
She stood there.