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“Were this many packing peanuts really necessary to move your things ten minutes across town?”

“My things are valuable.”

Rhett holds up a pack of Zoo Pals plates.

“To me,” I add.

He pulls out another. “Three packs?”

“They were on sale. I enjoy the compartments.”

“So I’m expected to buy a house, but you’re twenty-five and eating off cartoon animals?”

I press my lips together.

“Just saying.” He smirks.

“I’ll clean up the peanuts,” I sigh. “Where’s your broom?”

“Cub, it’s fine?—”

“Broom, Sutton.”

He sighs. “Hall closet.”

I head down the hall, opening a door to an entirely packed closet.

“Boys,” I mutter, and wedge my arms between the coats, shoving coats aside in search of the broom. All I find are hockey sticks and a life-size cardboard cutout of Rhett in his Storm uniform, which I choose to ignore.

Just as I’m about to give up and call for help, something catches my eye—a small wooden jewelry box, delicate and old. I drop to my knees, reaching for it, and run my finger over the delicate white flowers hand-painted on the top before flipping the little silver latch and lifting the lid.

Empty.

“What are you doing?”

I jolt. Rhett’s behind me.

“Looking for the broom,” I say. “You said hall closet.”

He holds up the broom. “That hall closet.”

I spot an open door across the hall—shelves neatly stacked with cleaning supplies.

“Well, you could’ve been more specific,” I huff. “Not everyone has a penthouse with twenty-five closets.”

“It’s just a three-bedroom apartment on a high floor. And there are only like six closets?—”

His eyes fall to the box in my hands. Something flickers in his face—there, then gone.

I stand and offer it to him. “Found this while broom-hunting. What is it?”

“It’s a jewelry box.” He clears his throat. “I think.”

I wait for more, but that’s all he says.

“It looks really old,” I say.

“It’s definitely from another lifetime.”