10. Jessica
August, Present Day
Maple Ridge
The rumbleof Troy’s garage door opening can be heard from where I’m sitting in the living room, transcribing Iris’s journal. He’s early. He and his brothers were supposed to drive the retired SEALs to the airport in Eugene after their weekend excursion.
I close the journal and return it to my book bag on the floor. I was going to start making dinner soon, anyway.
I walk over to the kitchen and pick up a carrot from the counter as Troy strolls into the room, his hair damp and smelling of the pine shampoo they have at the Warriors cabins. It’s one of my favorite smells. It reminds me of him.
“Hey,” I say, smiling at Troy. “I wasn’t expecting you for another two hours.”
His arms go around my waist, and he pulls me to him. “My brothers took the men to the airport.” He takes the carrot from my hand and puts it on the counter behind me. “You and I are going on a date.”
“A date?”
“Yes. A date. It’s when a man takes a woman he’s interested in out to dinner. We’ve officially been a couple for over a month now, but we haven’t been on a single date. That changes tonight. I’m taking you to dinner.”
My smile slips a little, and I focus on the sexy-as-hell stubble on his face. “You don’t need to take me to dinner. I’m perfectly happy having dinner with you here.” Where I’m safe from questioning eyes.
“I know you are. But I wanna take you on a real date. And afterward, I’ll walk you to the front door of this house like I would if this were our first date—which it is. And then if it’s okay with you, I’ll kiss you like this.” He presses his mouth lightly to mine. My lips tingle, and I release a dreamy, heartfelt sigh.
“What if I want more than a sweet kiss?” I whisper, my breath skimming over his lips.
“For our first date?” His mouth presses into a serious line that twitches at the corners. “First date is just the kiss. That’s the proper dating etiquette.”
A giggle bubbles inside me. “What if I want to do this?” I press my mouth to his and encourage his lips to part. My tongue dips into his mouth and strokes across his tongue.
His lips curve against mine, and a soft laugh vibrates low in his throat and spreads throughout my body. “I’m sure we can bend the dating etiquette rules just a little.”
“Only a little?”
“Sweetheart, I’d like to bend you over the counter and do wicked things to you.” His voice is a low growl that ignites the nerve endings between my legs. If he keeps this up, I’ll explode into a million stars before we get to go on a date.
A tiny whimper escapes me, and I press my body into his. His length hardens in his shorts, and I trace the tip of my tongue along his lower lip, enjoying this game.
Troy’s hand goes to my ass. “Like that, huh?”
“Uh-huh.” I can barely talk or think or…
Troy’s other hand cups my face, and his mouth moves to my neck. He plants soft kisses along my skin, and I melt at his touch. Another whimper breaks free.
Troy takes a step back, a cocky grin on his face. “You’re very good at distracting a man.”
“Is that what I’m doing? Distracting you so you don’t take me out on a date?” I lean into him.
“Nope. You’re distracting me so I forget the proper dating etiquette.”
“From the 1950s.” I bite my lip, holding back my comment about how Iris hadn’t worried about dating etiquette with Johann. But why would she when she had no idea if she would survive the war? Why wait for tomorrow when it might never come?
“My mother taught me to be a gentleman.” Amusement shines in Troy’s warm brown eyes.
“I’m sure your mom will be proud that she did a good job instilling those lessons.” Smiling broadly, I widen the gap between us. “So, where will this date take place?”
“La Brezza Ristorante.”
“I’ve never been there before.” It’s one of the fancier restaurants in town, but not over-the-top, suits-and-tie fancier.
“We have a reservation for six-thirty.”
Surprise widens my eyes, kickstarts the fast beating of my heart. “You’ve already got a reservation?” God, am I ready to be out in public like that so soon after the newspaper article?
“Yup, booked it once I returned to town.”
I nod because I don’t know how to respond. I can’t remember the last time I went on a date. “How was the trip this weekend?”
“It was good.”
Something about the way he says the three words has me raising my eyebrows. On the surface, there’s nothing sinister about them. It’s that subtle, barely noticeable pause before the “good” that says the opposite.
“What…what happened?”
“Nothing exciting. It was mostly a reunion for these men. They all retired from the military ten years ago. Needed a break from their desk jobs. They met up in Portland for the week.”
“So, nothing bad happened?”
Troy’s brow pulls into a frown. “No. Were you expecting something bad to have happened?”
I shake my head. I must be imagining things. I’m paranoid after everything that’s happened to me, and I’m reading too much into his reactions.
* * *
Troy pullsopen the door to the restaurant, and his warm gaze locks on me like I’m a grand prize he’s won. The love in his eyes sets off a flutter of butterfly wings in my stomach.
I’m wearing the gorgeous floral sundress Anne gave me when I bought Iris’s house. Troy has on pants and a button-up shirt. And damn. Troy in jeans and a T-shirt is good-looking, but that’s nothing compared to dressed-up Troy. He’s hotter than hot.
The way the young hostess is batting her eyelashes at him tells me I’m not the only one who thinks that. I’m not sure she even notices he’s holding my hand.
That’s fine with me. As long as she’s paying attention to him, it means she’s not seeing me. Or my scar. Or noting how much I resemble the woman in the newspaper—assuming she reads the one Cora’s article was in.
I duck my head. I have a little more makeup on than normal, but it’s not enough to hide the scar by my mouth.
“We have a reservation for two under Troy Carson,” he tells her.
“Yes, this way, please.” She grabs the menus and leads us to a table in the middle of the room, to a location that puts me on display. My muscles tense, and my hand tightens around Troy’s.
“Could we sit somewhere a little more private?” He nods to several empty tables near the exposed brick wall.
“Of course.” She takes us to a table for two tucked in the corner. Troy pulls a seat out for me that has my back facing the restaurant patrons, and the tension in my body lessens.
“Thank you.” I smile at him and sit, relieved he understood the problem without me having to voice it out loud.
He takes the seat opposite mine, and the hostess recites the specials. I don’t dare look at her, keeping my head tucked down.
She leaves, and Troy wraps his fingers around my hand resting on the table. My skin is no longer dry and calloused like it was when I was released from prison. Even my fingernails are in better shape. They’re longer now, prettier, with a light gloss to them.
Troy’s hands are warm and strong. They’re perfect for holding, for making me feel safe, for giving me orgasms. He strokes my hand with his thumb, setting off the delicious tingles that happen whenever he does that.
“Did this restaurant exist when you were a kid?” I turn my head to check out the place. The restaurant has a quaint charm to it that reminds me of pictures I’ve seen of outdoor courtyards in Italy and the Mediterranean.
“Yes and no. There was a restaurant here, but the owners sold it about fifteen years ago. Everything about it changed when the new owners took over. For the better. It wasn’t so trendy when I was growing up. It was more like a diner.”
Wow. I never would have guessed. “Have there been a lot of changes to the town since you were a kid?”
“It’s grown since then, but not enough to lose the small-town charm that has the tourists coming here. Some of the buildings on and near Main Street have seen updates over the years, but it’s pretty much the same.” His thumb continues to stroke my hand. I’m close to purring at his touch.
We gaze into each other’s eyes. The warmth of the chocolate-brown flakes in his eyes has me mesmerized. I could easily get lost in them for all eternity.
“Would you like anything to drink?” a woman asks us, startling me. I didn’t notice her approach our table. She’s in her early twenties, her black hair styled in sleek waves like a 1950s Hollywood starlet.
She smiles at Troy, all warmth and sparkling eyes.
The same warmth is then directed my way. Her gaze drops to the scar by my mouth. Her expression doesn’t change, but her smile now seems almost frozen in place. Her eyes lack any hint of recognition.
We pick up the menus and I hurriedly read the options. Rich and delicious aromas tease the air and remind me I’m hungry. Everything looks so good and smells amazing, making it harder to choose what to order.
We order wine and our food. She gathers our menus, her smile unchanging, and leaves.
Troy takes my hand again. His thumb strokes the side of my wrist, soothing away my unease from the waitress’s reaction to my scar.
It doesn’t mean anything. She’s not the first person to be distracted by it. She’s probably…she’s probably wondering why someone as hot as Troy is with someone scarred like me.
Or maybe she saw your photo in the newspaper.
“What was your childhood like living with your grandparents?” Troy asks, clearly oblivious to the waitress’s reaction…or maybe he’s trying to distract me from it.
I decide to lean into it. “The best. I swear Granny was a flower child in the sixties, and she kept that part of her alive after my grandfather died.”
“Were you close to them both?”
“I was. But after my grandfather died, Granny and I grew even closer.” I smile, the curve of my mouth wistful and wide. “My grandfather was great. He would walk into the kitchen while Granny was cooking dinner and get her to dance with him to whatever was playing on the radio. But he was a terrible dancer, which only made it that much sweeter.”
I laugh at the memory—one of many I had tucked away when my life hadn’t been a reflection of theirs. It feels great to have the memories again—a benefit of therapy.
I wipe at a stray tear, the result of laughing and the bittersweet pain of losing him. Of losing them both.
Troy squeezes my hand, and I smile at him, thanking him without words for bringing back the memory.
“Do you miss San Diego?” he asks.
“Sometimes. I loved it there when I was growing up. I loved taking Amelia to the beach and searching for shells with her. Just like Granny used to do with me. At least Amelia didn’t have to give it up when she moved to Seattle. When Craig and Grace visited me in Beckley”—my voice drops so low on the last word, I’m not sure Troy even hears it—“to ask me if they could adopt my daughter, I made them promise to keep taking her to the beach and look for seashells with her.” This time the pitch of my voice is normal, but the words come out rough, like wet sand between bare toes.
I blink away the tears and brighten my smile. We’re on a date. A first date. Men tend not to like their dates crying on a first date. Or on any date.
We spend the rest of our meal talking about beaches and Troy’s family and our lives growing up.
“You’re lucky having such a close family,” I tell him.
“I am. We weren’t always close. There were times when our fighting drove Mom nuts. When you have four kids, there’s always someone who’s mad at someone else. But we were there for each other when it counted the most.”
“Do you want a big family like that?” The question slips out before I realize I’ve said it. I hold my breath.
Troy’s eyes, warm like melted chocolate, hold on to mine. “I would love to have kids one day. And I would love to have more than one. It was crazy in the house with so many of us—especially when my brothers and I hit our teens—but it was a good kind of crazy.”
He doesn’t look away. And I suddenly wish I could yank back my question.