At that moment, the doorbell rang sharp through the kitchen haze of bacon steam and hot chocolate curl.
Who was here? No one should be here at this point of time.
Hellen's eyes narrowed instinctive, wiping sudsy hands quick on a dish towel slung over her shoulder before striding to the front door—sleeves still rolled, blonde ponytail bouncing taut with purpose. She twisted the knob firm and yanked it open, morning sun slicing harsh across the threshold.
Gray eyes, sharp as shattered flint and unblinking beneath arched brows, locked onto hers from under the low brim of a sleek black baseball cap, its embroidered insignia faded from wear.
A tailored green blazer hugged her athletic build like a second skin—shoulders wide as a linebacker's, rolling with latent strength; crisp white shirt beneath unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to reveal corded forearms.
