Jillian Cade by Jen Klein

a coffee table, so I had to clear the knickknacks off the top before I could open it.
    A soft rapping startled me. It took me a second to make the connection that someone was knocking on the front door. I closed the trunk and hopped up. Even before I yanked the door open, I knew who would be there. Apparently my day was going to both start and end with this guy. Sky held a white paper bag against his body, almost like he was cradling a baby, and shouldered past me, ignoring my huff of indignation. “We didn’t discuss our plan for tomorrow.”
    â€œAre you kidding me?” I was past being polite. “Enough already! You have my phone number. Use it!”
    Sky didn’t seem perturbed by my outburst. “I did use it.”
    â€œNo you didn’t.”
    â€œYes I did.”
    â€œNo you . . . ” My voice trailed off. I stopped and ran my hands down the front of my jeans, then the back. My phone wasn’t in any of those pockets. I stormed back to the sofa where I had dropped my backpack and ripped it open. I was starting to rifle through it when Sky spoke again.
    â€œLooking for this?” I turned to see him holding up my phone. “You left it on the bench.”
    A long moment passed—one in which I could have screamed or kicked him again or called the police. But I saw his smile in the uncertain light, and more importantly, I caught a whiff of whatever was in that white paper bag. He held it up before me. “Hungry?”
    I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. If he wouldn’t leave me alone, I might as well get a free meal out of it. I gestured toward the couch. “Have a seat.”
    Sky’s head turned to the right and then to the left. “I appreciate romance as much as the next guy, but I can barely see you.”
    One of his hands moved toward the panel of switches by the front door, and I panicked.
    â€œNo!” I shouted, leaping forward and grabbing his arm.
    Too late. His fingers brushed over the panel, and of course, nothing happened. He looked down at me, but I was frozen, still grasping his arm, humiliated. I had gotten used to the dimness in the room. I had forgotten. Of all people in the world, why did it have to be Sky Ramsey who knew the electricity had been turned off?
    His hand floated back to where mine was clenched on his arm, and he gently disengaged my fingers. He was still looking at me, puzzled. Or worse, pitying. Paralyzed with shame, I could only stare back. We stood like that for the barest moment, and then I felt a pressure on my fingers—a squeeze—and he let go.
    â€œYou must have blown a fuse,” he said and headed toward the couch.
    I swallowed. “Yeah. Old houses.”
    â€œOld houses.” I heard him pat the cushion beside him. “Come on.”
    I sat and waited while Sky pulled out burgers. He handed one to me. I lifted it to my mouth and took a bite. It was beyond delicious. I took several more bites.
    He handed me a napkin, then set two Cokes on the trunk. When he shifted his weight, some of the knickknacks on the cushion beside him clinked together. Sky picked one up from the pile and held it near the candle. It was a photo of . . .
    â€œDr. Cade,” Sky said in a voice that was hushed and reverent.
    I took another bite of burger, watching him.
    â€œWhen will he be back from his leave of absence?” Sky asked me. “All the info online said that he left to . . . ” He paused, looking at me. “To help your mom,” he finished.
    I didn’t plan to snort, and yet I did.
    â€œWhat?” he asked.
    I didn’t have to tell him the truth. I could have lied to him like I did to everyone else. I could have given him the party line: Dad was overseas when Mom suddenly got sick. She passed away before he could get home. It was tragic and unexpected. I could have said that, but I didn’t have the energy to spit out another lie.
    So instead, I set my half-eaten burger down.