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Caleb has the audacity to laugh. “We fell asleep watching a movie. Not sure what’s so shocking about that.”
Maybe for him. I’ve heard the gossip at school. I saw him kissing Madison. I see alittleof the appeal. But this is in no way, shape, or form a normal occurrence for me.
I slide off the soft comforter and stretch. Conversing with Caleb while on a bed next to him is not conducive to thinking clearly. His hair isn’t the only part of him that looks attractive first thing in the morning.
“I need to get home,” I say, crossing my arms.
Gramps always goes to bed before me, so I’m not worried he’ll have missed me last night. But if he wakes up and I’m missing, that will be difficult to explain. Plus, there’s a long list of chores waiting for me out in the barn.
Caleb rolls off the other side of his bed. “Just give me a minute to change, and then I’ll drive you home.”
He disappears into the adjoining bathroom, leaving me with the tantalizing opportunity to poke around his bedroom unsupervised. I resist the urge for about thirty seconds before wandering over to his desk. I run the pads of my fingers along the varnished wood surface as I study the bulletin board mounted above it. A few photos with his baseball teammates, a copy of his class schedule, a ticket to a baseball game. I open one of the desk drawers, only to discover it’s filled with nothing but old school notebooks. I slide it shut and open the next one. It’s filled with letters from colleges. Recruitment letters. A much-needed reminder of another way in which Caleb and I are completely different.
“Finished snooping?” Caleb’s voice startles me. I knock two books off his desk in my haste to spin around.
Not incriminating at all.
“I was just…sightseeing.”
Caleb’s smirk makes it clear he doesn’t believe me. “If you’re donesightseeing, I’m ready to go.”
He’s changed, I realize, into a pair of jeans and a different sweatshirt than the one he woke up in. He’s also combed his short, dark hair so it lies flat, making me miss the messy bedhead.
I grab my book bag from the spot where I abandoned it last night. To my surprise, Caleb grabs his own as well.
“What are you doing? Aren’t you coming back here?”
Caleb shrugs. “I’m already up.” He opens his bedroom door and starts walking down the hallway.
I hurry after him.
“What if your parents see us?” I whisper. As embarrassed as I am about waking up next to Caleb, it would be infinitely worse for anyone else to find out. And based on the sneer Mrs. Winters gave me last night, she would be equally displeased.
“My dad’s out of town and my mom won’t be up for hours. As long as I’m not out besmirching the Winters name, they could really care less what I do.”
I don’t have anything to say to that aside from informing Caleb hanging out with me is probably the worst form of name besmirching he could engage in. But I don’t feel like pointing that out.
I’m just as struck by the opulence of the Winters’ mansion on my second trip through it as I was last night. Morning light is creeping in through the windows, bathing the soft shades surrounding us in hints of color.
“I’ve always wondered what these houses look like inside,” I muse as I follow Caleb through another hallway lined with antique side tables and expensive oil paintings.
Caleb studies what I’m guessing is an awestruck expression. “It’s awful,” he offers. “Like living in a museum.”
“Grass is always greener, I guess,” I reply, as I follow him through the soaring foyer and outside, pulling my fleece tighter around my torso to combat the early morning chill. It takes a few minutes for the water to turn hot in the farmhouse and the radiator pipes clang in the middle of the night. I bet the heating in this place works perfectly.
“Or bluer, based on our location.” Caleb’s grin is wide, obviously pleased with himself for coming up with that reference to Kentucky’s nickname.
I roll my eyes. “That was lame.”
“Then why are you smiling?”
“I’m not,” I lie, quickly wiping any traces of amusement from my face as I climb into his truck.
“You’re a terrible liar,” Caleb informs me as he climbs into the driver’s seat.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I respond as I snap the seatbelt into place from my spot on the passenger side.
“Well, normally you take everything I say as an insult, so I’d call that progress.”
