Elena’s POV

The moment Matthews reached toward the sofa, my heart jumped.

“Wait—”

But I was too late.

He had already picked up the pile of yarn and the half-finished scarves resting there.

The living room suddenly felt unbearably quiet.

Several balls of yarn rolled slightly across the sofa where he had lifted them. Two scarves lay among the strands—one dark red, one black—and beside them were a few abandoned pieces where the stitches stopped halfway through.

I froze.

I hadn’t ...