Page 88 of Love Finds Home

“Did you run track?” I ask, panting.

“No—” Ginny cuts herself off and I look up to see terror on her face.

I stand to my full, albeit short, height and slowly turn the way she’s facing. There’s a person facing the door inside my studio.Long, black hair. Wearing a long, pale blue sweater over paint covered jeans and black work boots.

“Who—who are you?” I ask.

“You know who I am,” a feminine sounding voice says.

“No. I’m afraid I don’t,” I tell them. “Who are you, and why are you here?”

Ginny has moved close to me, and she’s holding her breath, shaking from head to toe. A bolt of lightning streaks across the sky outside the windows as the stranger turns to face me.

Not a stranger.

“Stefon?”

Ginny’s eyes go round and she mouths, “Shithead?” to me. I nod.

“I knew you’d know it was me, Elenore,” he speaks again, this time in a more masculine voice. “I knew your heart would call out to mine if I just gave you time.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Stefon. I told you it was over. I thought my friends did, too.”

He sneers, “Yourfriends? You mean the man you’ve been cheating on me with? You’ve been a very naughty little girl, Elenore Workman.”

“Stefon, I can’t cheat on you if we aren’t together.”

“Hush!” he orders, pulling a gun out of his sweater pocket. “You can’t hide the truth anymore, Elenore.”

“Why are you calling me Elenore?”

“That’s your name, so that’s what I’ll call you. That’s what they always called you in class, too.”

“What?” I breathe the word out. “How would you know that?”

“Don’t you remember? I was there. I knew we were meant to be then. My sister tried to talk me out of it. She was worried we’d get in trouble but knew nothing could stop love.”

“Your sister?”

“Stefanie was my sister.”

“Was? And who’s Stefanie?”

“She’s my sister,” he tells me like I’m a toddler. “You were in class with her and she thought you were too talented and wanted me to stay away, but she got over that quickly when I told her that having you by my side would good for both of us.”

“Wait,” I say, my brain finally clicking. “Your sister is Stefanie Devore?”

“Yes,” he says simply.

“I remember her. She lived on the same floor as me in the dorms. Where were you?”

“I was a floor up.”

“Were you the one who stole my things and started messing with my stuff?”

“See!” He claps, excitedly. “You do remember!”

I don’t reply, looking at him closer, trying to remember him from school.

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