Page 6

6

SUNNY

I ’m so excited to finally show my big brother around my house! It’s a good thing I did a little cleaning last night—not that I ever let it get too messy. Momma taught me to keep things neat and that’s how I like it.

My house is a big old Victorian one block down and one block over from The Pie Shop . It’s the only house like it in town and I love it but I won’t lie—it costs a lot to cool in the summer and even more to heat in the winter. Since it’s the tail end of Spring , things are still a little chilly but not cold enough to turn on the heat. So it’s kind of nippy inside when I push open the door.

“Sorry about the temperature,” I apologize to Kane . “ I know it’s chilly in here.”

He only shrugs, his broad shoulders rolling.

“Doesn’t bother me— I run hot anyway.”

As if to prove it, he takes off the brown leather bomber jacket he’s wearing, revealing a skintight black t-shirt underneath that shows the most mouthwatering male chest I’ve ever seen in my life. Then I remind myself that he’s my big brother— I shouldn’t be looking at him that way.

But still… I can’t help comparing him to my boyfriend, Charles . It’s not that Charles doesn’t look nice, he does . But there’s nice and then there’s… this . Chiseled abs and bulging biceps and… I make myself look away.

“Make yourself at home,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t come out too high and squeaky. “ Just watch out for Miss Sassy , my cat. She hates most everybody but me.”

As if she heard her name, Miss Sassy comes sauntering out from behind the couch with her furry tail riding high. She’s a Ragdoll that I got from the animal shelter over in Cunningham . Supposedly they’re the most loving cats in the world. In fact, they’re supposed to flop over like a rag doll the minute you pet them or pick them up—which is how they got the name.

Miss Sassy , however, does not fit that stereotype. She’s bonded with me and I’m the only one she wants—she hisses and swipes at everyone else who comes in the house. Even my friend Annabelle , who loves animals and has so many pets she practically qualifies as a Disney Princess , can’t make any headway with my stubborn cat.

So I feel justified in warning my brother.

“She acts like she might be friendly at first but then she’ll scratch the crap out of you if she gets a chance,” I warn him again, because he is actually bending down and holding a hand out to the cat.

Miss Sassy comes over cautiously and sniffs his fingertips. Then , to my utter shock, she rubs her furry cheek against his hand and begins to purr!

“She seems all right.” Kane caresses her with one big hand and she arches her back, the purring ratcheting up to an even higher volume.

“I don’t believe it!” I say blankly, watching him pet her. “ Usually she doesn’t like anyone!” She’s even scratched me a fair few times, despite the fact that I’m her “designated human.”

“Animals like me,” he rumbles.

“They do?” I ask.

He nods and gives me a look I can’t interpret.

“Maybe they sense something in me…you know?”

“Uh…maybe.” What they’re sensing I don’t know. But wait, maybe I do. There’s no denying that my big brother exudes a kind of animal magnetism. I certainly feel it when I’m around him—it’s like there’s something primal inside him. I know that sounds dramatic, but it’s true. Probably it’s his pale eyes— I can’t decide if they’re gray or blue.

Meanwhile, he’s still petting my cat.

“You know, guys in prison would love to have a pet like this,” he murmurs, straightening up. Miss Sassy continues the love fest—winding her way around and between his legs, purring up a storm. “ I even knew a few who tried keeping bugs or mice as pets in their cells—just anything at all that they could love.”

His words bring a lump to my throat and it’s brought home to me, all over again, how terribly lonely he must have been all those years on the inside. I’ve read a few books and articles about helping ex-cons re-acclimate to the outside world and that’s one of the things they all mentioned—the emotional isolation of prison.

“That’s so sad,” I whisper. Impulsively , I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him.

He doesn’t seem to know what to do at first…but then he slowly puts his arms around me and gives me a careful squeeze, as though I might break.

“I hope you don’t mind,” I say, looking up at him— I have a long way to look because he’s so tall. “ I’m a hugger and it seemed to me that you could use a hug just now.”

The uncertain look on his face fades and he gives me a smile—it’s little more than one corner of his mouth crooking up, but it counts as far as I’m concerned.

“Well, thank you, baby. That’s sweet of you.”

I like the sweet nickname. In his letters to me, he always called me “baby sis” which is nice too. I give him a squeeze and reluctantly let go. I’m wondering again what cologne he wears—whatever it is, it’s the best thing I’ve ever smelled. It’s kind of woodsy and wild with a dark, dangerous spice as the under-note.

“Okay, well…let me give you the tour of the house,” I tell him. I take his hand and tug. “ Come on—this way.”