At half past nine in the evening, Francesca watched as the Jenkins siblings disappeared into the night. The sleek gray Ghost glided silently away, its headlights twin pinpricks of light dwindling into the distance. She lingered by the curb, hesitating to go inside, when a low voice called her name: “Francesca.”

She froze.

Slowly, she turned, her gaze finding Julian’s in the soft spill of streetlight. The night breeze carried the scent of jasmine, blending with ...