Chapter 5
Even though she was exhausted and stressed, Monica couldn’t go to bed until her clothes had been washed and were in the dryer.
She needed to make sure she had something to wear tomorrow that wasn’t the oversized T-shirt and sweats Stuart had given her.
Though she appreciated the clothes more than she could say.
They were comfortable, even if they were huge on her small frame.
But even after she’d started the dryer and had climbed into the comfortable bed in the guest room, Monica didn’t sleep well. It was too quiet. And she was too nervous about her unfamiliar surroundings.
She lay awake for at least an hour before finally dozing fitfully, tossing and turning. Until something woke her.
Sitting up, she looked over at the clock. It was four twenty-one in the morning and still pitch black outside. She tilted her head, trying to figure out what had woken her up, and she heard something out in the living room.
Her heart beating a million miles an hour, wondering if perhaps somehow the man she’d seen in Algeria had found her, Monica threw the covers back and crept out of bed.
She reached for the knife Stuart had given her; he hadn’t asked her to return it and she hadn’t offered.
She unsheathed it and tiptoed toward the door.
She’d noted when she’d gone to bed that the door didn’t squeak, which she was grateful for now. She slowly opened it and silently walked down the hall until she could peek into the living area of Stuart’s house.
Blinking in surprise, she let her hand with the knife fall back to her side as she stared at the sight in front of her.
Stuart sprayed the coffee table with cleaner, then he wiped it down with a paper towel. She realized the sound she’d heard was the squirting of the bottle as he sprayed surfaces.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Stuart jerked in surprise and spun to face her. “Shit!” he breathed in reply.
“It doesn’t look like that’s what you’re doing,” Monica quipped, surprising herself with the joke.
His lips twitched as he straightened and looked everywhere but at her. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he was embarrassed. “I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep and figured I’d clean up a bit. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I wasn’t sleeping well,” she told him.
“You prepared to use that?” Stuart asked, gesturing to the knife in her hand.
Monica nodded. “If I have to, yeah.”
“Good.”
His reply wasn’t what she’d expected. She thought he’d give her a lecture about how sharp and dangerous the knife was.
She went back to her room and put the knife in its sheath and left it by the bed, then headed back out into the living room.
She was up now, and knew from experience she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again.
Besides, she was increasingly curious about Stuart. She definitely didn’t trust him to have her best interests at heart; her father had always taught her to “know thy enemy.” While Monica didn’t really think of Stuart as her enemy, he wasn’t exactly a friend either.
“You didn’t have to clean on account of me,” she said as he continued to wipe down the coffee table. Though admittedly, the room looked much better, now that he’d picked up the dishes, shoes, and random clothes that had been strewn about the space.
Stuart winced. “Yeah, I did. I hadn’t realized how bad this place had gotten until we walked in last night.”
Monica had also been surprised by the state of the house.
In her experience, military men were meticulous neat freaks.
Her dad certainly had been. She’d been required to make her bed every morning, pick up all her toys and put them away, and if she’d left a cup sitting in the sink—or, God forbid, anywhere in the living room—instead of rinsing it and putting it in the dishwasher, she’d have been in big trouble.
She’d done her best over the years to break some of the compulsive habits her dad had taught her, but she was still tidier than most. Seeing how messy Stuart’s house had been was a shocker.
“I thought military guys were neatniks,” she couldn’t help saying. No matter how many times she told herself she didn’t want to know anything about Stuart or his friends, he continually surprised her…which made her want to learn more.
He chuckled and walked over to the counter to set down the cleanser, then threw away the paper towels in the kitchen before going to the sink to wash his hands.
“I think because I was forced to have everything in its place and not a single wrinkle in my bedding in boot camp, something within me rebelled. I was never this messy growing up.”
“But you lived with your parents, right?” Monica asked.
“Yeah. And if you’re insinuating that my mom picked up after me, you’re right.
I played soccer throughout high school, and she was always harping on me to put my shin guards and balls away.
It didn’t help that my sister was perfect.
Her room was always clean and she never left her stuff around the house. ”
“You have a sister?” Monica asked.
As Stuart dried his hands on a towel hanging from the fridge, he nodded. “Yeah. She’s a year younger than me and a pain in my ass.” He smiled when he said it, letting Monica know he was teasing.
“Are you close?”
“As close as we can be with me being in the Navy and her being a traveling nurse. But growing up, I thought she was a pain, and she thought I was a jerk.”
“Were you?” Monica asked without thinking.
Stuart didn’t seem offended by her question. “Probably. I think most teenagers are. Hormones and trying to figure out who they are and where they fit in the world,” he said easily as he leaned against the counter.
He had on a navy-blue T-shirt that said NAVY across it in big white letters and a pair of gray sweatpants.
She hadn’t really understood women’s fascination with that particular garment before now, but suddenly it was all she could do to keep her gaze away from Stuart’s crotch.
The soft-looking material hugged his body…
and it was more than obvious that Stuart was very well endowed.
“What about you?” he asked.
“Huh?” she asked, mentally kicking herself for not paying better attention.
Stuart grinned as if he knew her mind was in the gutter, but he didn’t call her on it. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“Oh. No, thank God. I’m very thankful no one else had to suffer through a childhood like mine.”
Stuart didn’t immediately respond to her statement, and Monica regretted her words the second they were out of her mouth.
She didn’t tell many people about the hell she’d gone through in her father’s house, but the few times she had, she’d immediately been treated differently.
As if she was a powder keg ready to explode.
But Stuart’s facial expression didn’t change. He simply said, “That’s why you’re such a good nanny. You’re determined to treat your charges the opposite way you were treated.”
Monica was shocked by his insight. He was mostly right.
The day she left her father’s home, she swore that she’d never make a child feel the way she had for so long.
Scared. Walking on eggshells, terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing to bring her father’s wrath down on her.
She tried to anticipate children’s needs and wants before they had to ask.
Her throat closed up, and she fought to keep her emotions in check. How in the world did this man seem to know her so well after such a short period of time? It was unnerving, making Monica feel extremely uncomfortable.
And once again, as if he knew how she was feeling, he changed the subject. “You hungry?”
“It’s not even five in the morning,” Monica told him.
Stuart shrugged. “You’re up. I’m up. Might as well start the day.”
“I could eat,” Monica said cautiously.
“As I said last night, I need to go to the store, so I don’t have any eggs.
But I’ve got pancake mix. I can also make some biscuits, and I think there’s some bacon in the fridge too.
And before you say anything, I realize none of that is super healthy.
I’ll pick up some fruit, oatmeal, eggs, and more milk today.
I do have some canned peaches if you’re craving fruit though. ”
Monica stared at him in confusion. He was being extremely nice, but she didn’t want to be in his debt any more than she was already. “I can make something for myself,” she said.
“I got it…unless you object to me fixing you breakfast?”
“I don’t understand you,” Monica blurted, frustration clear in her voice.
Stuart frowned. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but there’s nothing to understand. You’re a guest in my home, and I’m offering to make you something to eat.”
“What do you want in return?” Monica asked.
His face registered his surprise—followed swiftly by irritation. Stuart stood up straight, no longer relaxed against his counter. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Hasn’t anyone done something nice for you before without any strings?”
“No.” Her answer was immediate.
“Well, that fucking sucks,” Stuart said.
“Guess I’ll be the first…if you let me. Go shower, take your time.
The place might not look like much, but I’ve got a kick-ass water heater.
I’ll make a bit of everything I’ve got and you can choose what you want to eat.
If it’ll make you feel better, after I get back from the store later, I’ll let you make us lunch. ”
Monica relaxed. “Yeah, okay.”
But her response didn’t really seem to make Stuart any happier. The frown stayed on his face until, finally, he sighed. “You’re killin’ me, Mo,” he said softly. So quietly, Monica wasn’t sure she heard him correctly. Then he gestured toward the hall with his head. “Go on. The bathroom’s all yours.”
She hesitated for a beat, wanting to stay and talk to Stuart more, yet relieved she had an out. In the end, old habits kicked in, and she fled.
Stuart made her nervous. She didn’t understand him. He didn’t act like she was used to people acting toward her. She knew she was standoffish and put off major “stay away” vibes, but Stuart didn’t seem to see or feel them. He was treating her as if they were old friends. It was weird.
And at the same time, so incredibly tempting.
For years, Monica had longed to find a man she could trust. Who she could fall in love and have children with…but not someone in the military. Not someone like her father.
Many people who’d grown up like she did would be afraid to have kids of their own, but not her. She’d make them feel as if they were the most important people in her life, because they would be. She’d never hurt them, never treat them as if they were expendable, like she’d been.
Looking down at what remained of her left hand, Monica closed her eyes and did her best to block the memories that seeing her mangled flesh always brought back. The pain. The confusion. The fear.
Determined not to let this man past the shields she’d spent a lifetime erecting, Monica took a deep breath after locking herself in the bathroom.
If Stuart wanted to make her breakfast, fine.
She wouldn’t read anything into it. She’d be gone in a day or so.
Back to her predictable, somewhat lonely life.