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So I'm gone.

I spend the next hour cleaning the house and searching for some sort of coffee maker, but apparently this place doesn't have one. I'm checking the kitchen cabinets for the third time, just in case one magically appeared since the last time I looked, when a knock on the front door startles me.

I open it to find Jude standing there in a white, paint-stained T-shirt and jeans, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other.

He holds the coffee out to me.

“Oh my God, thank you!”

I take it without argument and immediately take a sip.

“Didn't they ever make coffee here?”

I step aside to let him in.

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “They preferred the Italian moka, but they brought that with them to Chicago. D used mine whenever he came back.”

I nod.

Of course he did.

“Guess I'll have to order one.”

I glance toward the kitchen and take another sip.

How exactly am I supposed to buy a moka without a job?

Or money?

I sigh and follow him into the kitchen, watching him for a moment. He's tall, with broad shoulders and a tan I assume comes from working outside, but for someone his size, even the way he moves is quiet, like he doesn't want to be noticed.

Jude puts the bag of groceries on the kitchen island and looks up. His eyes go from mine to the front door and then back.

“See you.”

He takes a step toward the door.

“Wait.”

The word slips out before I can stop it.

He turns around, his green eyes settling on mine, questions in them but without pressure.

“For this morning...” I rub the back of my neck. “And yesterday.” I shrug awkwardly. “I'm a terrible drinker.”

For a second he just looks at me.

Then one corner of his mouth lifts.

“So I've noticed.”

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.

A real one.

Small.

The sound startles me, and judging by the look on Jude's face, it startles him too. It disappears almost as quickly as it came.