Page 12 of Kissing for Keeps
5
JACK
It’s 7:00,and I’m late. That’s what happens when I make last-minute decisions. But after talking to Mom, it seemed like the only choice for anyone wanting to call himself a half-decent human and brother.
When I pull up to Siena’s house, all the suitcases are sitting on the porch. She’s got the curtain in her living room pulled back with a finger. It shuts as soon as she spots my truck, and I take in a deep breath, preparing for what I know I’ve got coming.
“You know,” Siena says as she emerges from the door, “I would have gladly taken a late delivery the other day if it meant you would have been on time today.”
I grab two suitcases and haul them down the stairs. “Good morning to you, too.”
“There’s also this new thing calledtexting. It’s where you send a message to let someone know you’re entirely unreliable, and she can sleep an extra thirty minutes.”
“From the looks of it, you got plenty of beauty sleep.” I refrain from telling her I’m anextracouple of minutes late because I forgot my phone and had to go back for it.
“It’s 7:04, Jackson. We said 6:30. No, scratch that—yousaid 6:30.”
“The flight’s not until 10:20. And my name isn’t Jackson. It’s just Jack.”
She stops in front of the bed of my truck, and I hurry to pull the handle to open it.
“I don’t care, Just Jack,” she says. “I need an effective way to communicate how angry I am with you.”
I chuckle and start throwing the suitcases into the truck bed, glancing at her to see if she notices anything, but she’s too busy watching me lift the suitcases.
“Like what you see?” I ask.
“I really, genuinely don’t. Handle with a little more care, would ya?”
I raise my brows. “Clearly, you’ve never seen how they treat these things at the airport. Or are you trying to find reasons to be mad at me?”
She turns and heads to the porch to get the last bags and her carry-on. Why is it so fun to push her buttons?
Pretty soon, everything is squared away, and we’re on our way to the airport.
“So,” I say from the driver’s seat, handing her a blueberry muffin, “you ready for this?”
“Maybe don’t talk to me,” she says. “I’d rather not say rude things to you when you’re doing something nice for me.”
I laugh and turn on the radio. “Suit yourself.” I haven’t even told her the news yet, but it’ll keep.
An Ed Sheeran song plays on the radio, and Siena taps her finger to the beat on her knee. Except not—not unless she has a terrible sense of rhythm, and given that her brother is an emerging star on the music scene, I rule out that option very quickly.
These aren’t jamming-out-to-music finger taps. They’re fidgety, stressed ones.
I cover her hand with mine. “It’s gonna be okay. Promise.”
Her hand stills under mine, and she frowns.
“We’re not gonna miss the flight, okay?”
She takes a deep breath and nods, pulling her hand away.
When I finally press the brakes in front of the valet service, she looks around like she’s just realized we’re not in the usual place. Before she can ask what’s going on, the valet driver comes to my door and opens it for me.
“Thanks, man,” I say, stepping out. “Keys are in the ignition.”
“What?” Siena’s fingers are on the handle, but she’s not moving.
