David stopped at the bookcase and rested his fingers against the glass of the framed photo. His kids smiled back at him, caught mid-laugh. He withdrew his hand and glanced at the clock.

  3:00 a.m.

  Sleep clearly wasn’t happening.

  He crossed into the kitchen, filled a glass of ice water, and drank it too fast, the clink of ice loud in the quiet house. Lobo padded over, tail thumping once, then flopped onto the floor with a huff.

  David poured a second glass and sat at the table. The house felt larger at night. Empty in ways that had nothing to do with square footage.

  “Tonight was fun,” he muttered. “Actually fun.” He shook his head. “So why does that scare the hell out of me?”

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  Lobo got up, nudged his hand insistently, and earned a distracted scratch between the ears.

  “Yeah,” David said softly. “I missed you too.”

  Exhaustion finally leaned its weight against him. “Come on, boy.”

  They made it to the bedroom before David stopped short.

  His dresser mirror.

  A woman stared back at him.

  His breath caught. “Oh—shit.”

  Lobo bumped into the back of his legs, tongue lolling, tail wagging like this was the best moment of his night. David scrubbed his face and forced a laugh.

  “Alcohol,” he told himself. “Definitely alcohol.”

  When he looked again, it was just him.

  Still, he didn’t trust it.

  In the closet, men’s clothes hung neatly along one wall. Dresses and blouses claimed the longer wall. He pulled a folded sheet from a storage bin and tossed it over the mirror.

  “There,” he said, more to himself than Lobo. “Problem solved.”

  Lobo snorted and collapsed onto his pillow with a sigh.

  David finished his routine, slipped into a black silk nightgown, checked the locks, then turned off the lamp.

  Darkness settled.

  Lobo’s steady breathing filled the dark. That helped.

  Sleep took him sideways.