Morning sunlight spilled through the kitchen windows, soft and golden, catching in the steam curling from coffee mugs. Jared stood by the stove flipping pancakes, Myla sat at the counter nursing her second cup of coffee, still half asleep, while Beck scrolled through emails on his phone, humming some old rock song off-key.

“Your humming sounds like a dying cat,” Jared muttered, tossing a pancake onto the plate with a flourish.

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you,” Beck shot back ...