Chapter 14 #2
Mom and Mia don’t try not to stare. They just stare and stare, like they’ve never seen a man wash his hands before. Thankfully, Greyson either doesn’t notice or is being polite and pretends not to notice.
We eventually get all the food to the table and the four of us sit around the table digging into the serving bowls and filling our plates. Henry sits right next to Greyson.
A simple, “Down, boy,” from Greyson and Henry falls at his feet and sets his moppy head on his extended paws.
“How on earth did you do that?” I ask. “He never listens to anyone.”
Greyson shrugs. “I guess it’s all the years I spent in the military.”
A flash of something travels behind his eyes—guilt? Secrecy? Embarrassment? And then it’s gone.
“You were in the military?” Mia asks.
“Army,” he says with a nod.
My hands are gripping a rib on either end. My face freezes over my food. Everything inside me stills. The Army? Those blue eyes. I take a bite, chewing slowly and studying Greyson. Could it be?
“Did you play baseball in the Army?” Mia asks.
I’ve never been more grateful to have a chatty daughter.
“No. I played before I left, though. In high school. I thought I’d go pro at one time, but I gave up that dream before I graduated.”
“Why?” Mia is clearly baffled at the idea of giving up a dream.
“I got injured, for one thing. But I could have pushed past that and still pursued it. I guess I just didn’t feel like I was good enough for the majors.”
“I bet you were,” she says with the childlike confidence one has in their heroes before life begins popping bubbles one by one.
“I was pretty decent,” he admits. “Not as good as you, though.”
Mia beams at his praise. And I smile too. Greyson doesn’t toss out compliments. He’s far too efficient. As a matter of fact, he’s never this open and talkative. Mia really does something to loosen him up.
We finish eating. More talk of baseball and Mom’s inquiry about how Greyson became a fireman fills our conversation. I study the man at my table, searching for familiar mannerisms or signs to confirm the suspicion growing inside me. A tingling warmth spreads behind my rib cage. Those eyes.
But wouldn’t he recognize me too?
If it’s him, he’s morphed into someone practically unrecognizable.
“Now! Ice cream sandwiches!” Mia exclaims as we’re clearing the dishes.
I pull the ice cream out—Neapolitan—and take the tinfoil off the plate of cookies.
“Did you bake these?” I ask Greyson.
“I did.”
“And he bakes!” Mom exclaims.
“Mom,” I chide her. Then I look at Greyson. “Excuse her. She just says whatever comes to mind.”
“It’s refreshing,” he says.
“That’s one word for it,” I mutter.
“Did you hear that, Hallie?” she asks. “I’m refreshing.”
“Like a glass of ice water to the face,” I tease her.
We make our ice cream sandwiches and take them out into the back yard. Mia and Henry run around. Henry tries to steal licks of the treat while Mia giggles and runs away from him. Mom and Greyson and I sit on the porch. The sky slowly darkens and the air chills by degrees.
My thoughts flit between Is he? or Is he not? to the point of nearly being distracted whenever Mom or Greyson tries to draw me into conversation. Thankfully, our attention stays mainly focused on Mia and Henry as our entertainment.
When we’ve finished our dessert, I tell Mom, “I need to get Mia to bed.” I look at Greyson. “It’s a school night.”
“I’d better get out of your hair,” he says, standing. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Oh! No,” Mom says quickly, jumping up from her chair so abruptly it clatters. “I’ll put Mia to bed. You two take your time saying goodbye.”
“Mia!” Mom shouts into the yard before I have a chance to protest. “Time to get ready for bed. Come on! Nana’s going to read you Goodnight Moon!”
“That’s for babies!” Mia shouts.
“Well then, we’ll read whatever you like. Hustle up, now!”
Mia runs onto the porch. “Goodnight, Coach G!” She stops in front of his chair and leans in to give him a hug. He wraps one arm around her and hugs her back.
A lump forms in my throat. It’s silly. She’s had coaches. They’ve all been great, thankfully. I don’t know why the way Greyson is around her gets to me the way it does.
“Okay, Mia,” Mom says. “Let’s get out of their hair and get you some shut-eye.”
“Night, Mommy,” Mia says, stepping over to my chair and leaning in for a hug. “I love you.”
“Love you too, Spike,” I say, closing my eyes and holding her close.
She pulls back and follows my mom inside. The last words I hear her saying are, “Nana, I put myself to bed every night.”
Mom answers her, “Well, that’s been something I’ve been meaning to rectify. No time like the present.”
Greyson chuckles. Henry walks up to him and sets his head in Greyson’s lap. Greyson rubs the top of his head reflexively.
“Sorry about my mom,” I say for the fourth or fifth time tonight. “She means well.”
“She’s a character,” he says with fondness in his tone.
“She is. And I’m sorry about the way you were cajoled into coming over.”
“It was actually a nice change of pace. No one cajoled me.” His eyes meet mine. Those ice-blue eyes.
“So, you were in the Army?" I ask, hedging around my actual question.
He nods. His eyes don’t leave mine.
My heart trips and stutters. What if …
“Where did you serve?” I ask, almost certain as to what’s going to come out of his mouth.
His answer is slow. Deliberate. His eyes bore into mine. “Afghanistan ... after boot camp.” A careful smile emerges on his face. The night is dark around us, the porch light illuminating his features. Just like that night across the cathedral lawn.
“We had a night in Germany. Before we deployed.” He pauses and then he says it. “Munich."
My pulse thrums in my ears. When I speak, my voice comes out on a breath. “Ace?”
Am I dreaming?
Greyson nods softly. “Yes.”
We stare at one another. My hand itches to touch him. I set it on my lap, studying his face for traces of the boy I met nine years ago.
“How?” I ask. My nerves buzz like live wires beneath my skin. And then it dawns on me. He’s not shocked. Or if he is, the Greyson coolness is covering any reaction. He’s studying me.
“Did you know who I was?” I finally ask.
His voice is soft and low. “Yes. The first instant I saw you at the Pizza Den. I thought I was imagining you. Then you showed up at the station …”
I shake my head, trying to assemble the pieces. “How did I miss it?”
His one shoulder lifts in a soft shrug.
“Why didn't you say anything?”
“You were new to town—to the crew.”
He’s so familiar now. How did I miss him—hidden in plain sight all these weeks? He continues his explanation while my eyes rove over him, trying to pull together the boy in Munich with the man on my porch.
“When I realized you didn’t recognize me,” he says. “I didn’t want to make things complicated.”
“Ace,” I say softly.
He protected me that night, and he’s still protecting me, holding his awareness until I caught up with him. And if I never did, he might have held it forever—for my sake.
He nods. “You haven't changed a bit.”
He raises his hand in a gesture toward his face and says, “I look pretty different. I am different.”
“I've changed,” I say.
If only he knew. So much has changed since that night.
“Not in the most important ways,” he says with obvious affection in his tone.
I smile across the porch at him. And then I remember the photo.
“Wait here!” I say, jumping up out of my chair. Henry jumps up off the porch and stands at my side.
“What?” Greyson asks.
“I have something I want to show you.”
I run in the back door. I’m only slightly aware of Greyson coming in after me and the sound of the door shutting behind him.
I bolt into my room, riffling through my things until I come across the picture I found just the other day.
Grabbing it, I dash back into the hallway and practically into the wall of Greyson’s presence. I’m out of breath.
Greyson stands there, an amused grin on his face, staring down at me.
I stick the picture out between us. “I came across this when I was unpacking.”
He takes the photo from me and holds it, studying it almost reverently.
“Here,” I say, pointing to the kitchen. “There’s better light in here.”
He walks into the kitchen and I follow behind him. “I didn't know if you even remembered that night,” he says, glancing from the photo to my face.
“I do,” I assure him. “I never forgot.”
In the most natural of movements, Greyson’s hand raises, brushing softly across my cheek.
His touch is featherlight and electric. The pads of his fingertips graze my skin, trailing down to my shoulder, simultaneously rough and gentle.
My eyelids momentarily flutter. I stare up at him and his hand drops.
He steps back one step, pocketing his hand, holding the photo in the other and staring down at me.
I almost step toward him, tightening the gap he just created. Just then, Mom’s animated voice carries down the hallway. She’s reading Mia’s bedtime story—a poignant reminder of my reality.
I’m not the girl in front of the cathedral.
Greyson’s eyes travel down the hallway and back to me.
“I’d better get going,” he says.
“Yeah.”
“Work tomorrow,” he says.
“Yeah,” I say again. “Back to reality.”
I want him to stay. But then what? I also need him to go.
We walk toward the front door. A hundred questions swirl through my head. My body feels too awake, buzzing with the new awareness of him. How will I sleep?
“Thank you, again,” he says.
For dinner, I think that’s what he means. But maybe more.
“You’re welcome. Thanks for bringing ice cream and those cookies. You bake a mean chocolate chip.”
He smiles at me. We’re going through the motions on the surface, but something in his eyes tells me he’s right there with me, wondering about the years we were apart—and maybe about what’s next now that we’ve found one another again.
He goes to open the door and I step closer, unable to keep myself from drawing him into a hug. We’re not Lieutenant Greyson Stone and Rookie Firefighter Hallie Collins. For a moment, we’re Ace and Hallie, reunited under the most unexpected circumstances.
He pulls me in, tucking my head under his chin.
His heart beats steady under my cheek. We hold on to one another, lingering.
His stubble catches in my hair. He’s all man now.
Muscles and hard edges. But he smells the same.
I turn off the voices in my head and allow myself one brief, indulgent moment where I sink into his embrace.
He holds me and time stills. With a single squeeze, he steps back.
“Good night, Hallie.”
“Good night … Ace.”
He smiles at me. Something wistful crosses his eyes. I want to ask him what it is, but I know he needs to leave. I need him to.
I step onto the front porch and watch as he climbs into his Jeep and drives away.
Tomorrow, I’ll see him at work.
The soldier who stole my heart over the course of one night in Munich.