Page 58

“Immensely.” He grins.
“Just take the stupid sweaters in.” I shove them at him, but he steps to the side and pats his chest.
“I ran here. Can’t carry them back.”
“Tuck it into your shorts! It can be one of those sweat towel thingies. What are they called?”
He raises a brow. “A sweat towel?”
“That’s what I was asking you.” I roll my eyes. “Look, he knows where I live! I never told him that.” My voice borders on hysterical.
Caleb gets a serious look on his face. “Wait, you didn’t tell him?”
“No!” I smack him again. I’m not sure why at this point. I want to touch him because I feel safer the closer I am to him. Also, I like touching him.
“Hmm.” He scratches his chin and picks up the two boxes it came in. Finally, he’s taking this seriously.
“You said you moved recently but it wasn’t rerouted from your old address,” he says, pointing at a sticker from the post office. “When did you move?”
“Uh, two months ago my brother and I sold our parent's home, but I’ve only been here for about a month.”
He pulls out his phone, tapping rapidly on it. “I need to look into something,” he mutters, eyes still down as he wanders toward the living room. He turns, and that’s when I catch sight of a large scar across the back of his left shoulder.
My heart jumps into my throat and without thinking, which is admittedly how I do everything, I reach for him. My fingers brush the smooth, raised skin.
Caleb tenses. Every muscle in his back on display right now.
“What happened?” I whisper.
He clears his throat. “When I was in the military, I got too close to a landmine. That’s where they had to dig the shrapnel out.”
I flatten my hand over the scar, trying to cover all its angry jagged edges. I can’t even imagine the pain. “You served?”
“For a couple of years.” His voice is hoarse, but he doesn’t move away from my touch. “I broke my mom’s heart.”
I slide my hand to the top of his shoulder. “Any mom would be scared to send their son into danger. But I’m sure she was proud of you.”
His head bobs. “She was the only one that was.”
I don’t know the story with his dad, and I don’t want to pry, but I hope someday he can let out the old pain his father caused.
I drop my hand and he turns. But his eyes slide right past mine and land on something behind me. “What’s that?”
“I made chocolate chip cookies. You want one?”
He physically shudders. “No. I'm talking about that.”
He walks around me and picks up my grandmother’s jewelry box I left on the entry table.
“It’s a jewelry box. Beautiful huh? It belonged to my grandmother.” I step up next to him, caressing the crystals on the lid.
“It was your grandmother’s?” he asks, doubt lacing his voice.
“Yes?” I cross my arms over my chest, confused by the change in temperature here. Maybe I should touch him again.
“I’ve seen this somewhere before,” Caleb says. “I think I should take it to the bureau and check it out.”
“Excuse me?” I snatch the box away from him.