“We were separated a lot. When she proved to be accelerated in most things we trained together.” His face twisted with irritation.

“Accelerated?”

“She could hit a target from fifteen-hundred yards by the time she was eleven. She’s probably the best sniper the military has ever seen,” he waited for my reaction. After seeing the deliberate smooth features of my face, he continued, “You can imagine how many elite branches of government and private sectors are falling over themselves for her, counting down the days until her eighteenth birthday.” He said the words with a hint of the tone a protective father might have when discussing his daughter’s first date.

“Are you close?” I asked, remembering the way they had reacted to each other in the pub.

Jared frowned. “I love her. She’s my sister.” The crease between his eyebrows grew deeper, “She’s also very obstinate and, like most teenage girls, she’s very self-absorbed. But in a lethal-type of way because of her training.” He was suddenly very far away. “Claire’s been through a lot. She didn’t get to have a normal childhood because of the way we were raised, and she’s angry about a lot of things.”

“Are you angry about the way you were raised?”

“No,” he said the word softly, but with firm conviction. There was no pause between my question and his answer. He scanned my face with such affection that I felt myself fidgeting with unease.

“Why is that?” I bit my lip, still apprehensive about the intensity in his eyes.

“We’ll get to that later. Dessert?” he asked, squeezing my hand before letting go.

I noticed the absence of his touch instantly when my hand turned cold. He took my nearly empty plate and returned with the perfect-sized slice of Angel Food cake. No icing, no layers. Just the way I liked it.

Taking a bite, I closed my eyes. “You have more than one talent, Mr. Ryel,” I said after swallowing the moist, spongy goodness. “Tell me more about you. I want to hear the little things, too. You know all of my favorites; it’s only fair that I know yours.”

Jared laughed once. “Okay.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin and leaned against his chair. “The little things….I was born in Providence on May ninth. I’m twenty-three,” he explained. “Breakfast is my favorite meal. Summer is my favorite season. I don’t have a favorite color, but I’ve always been partial to that crazy green-honey brown color of your eyes. I have this addiction to sweet potato fries.”

“Well. There you go…I knew something about you after all,” I grinned.

“See? I’m an open book.”

I rolled my eyes. “Go on….”