I felt the cold glass eye of the spice rack camera watching us from just inches away.

“You look pale, Clara,” he said, his eyes scanning my profile.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” I managed to say, my voice tight. “I’m just tired.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, his hand tightening over mine on the knife.

“The security system reported some unusual activity in the pantry while I was driving.”

He turned his head slightly, looking toward the pantry door.

“It said the door was open for nearly ten minutes.”

“I was cleaning,” I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. “I spilled some flour.”

Julian did not let go of my hand.

He leaned a fraction closer, his breath warm against my cheek.

“Did you clean it all up?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Every last bit?”

“Yes, Julian.”

He was silent for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the cutting board.

Then, he slowly released my hand and stepped back.

He walked over to the kitchen island and picked up his phone, unplugging it from the charger.