Chapter Two
Ashley
“I shouldn’t have sent him that photo.” I sighed as I sat on my best friend’s couch, hugging a floral throw pillow against my chest. “I know better than to have sent a candid shot. I should have sent one where I was wearing makeup and hiding this.” I pointed to the port-wine stain on my face. “I just didn’t want to give him the wrong idea about who I am, you know? But I’m sure he took one look at my picture and was like, ‘Oh, hell no’.” Dramatically flopping to my side with a groan, I continued, “I don’t know what I was thinking. He’ll never go for a girl like me. I’m stupid to even think I have a chance.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Tammy said as she sat down next to me. With narrowed eyes, she asked, “What do you mean, a girl like you ?”
“Come on, Tam. You’ve been my best friend for ten years, you know my birthmark turns people off. Why do you think I’ve never had a boyfriend?”
Hell, I hadn’t even been able to give away my virginity to horny boys in high school. Sure, they’d been nice enough to me—just no one had wanted to date me.
It wasn’t until college, when I discovered amazing makeup that covered the offending mark on my face, that I’d been able to date a guy long enough to lose my virginal status. Then I snuck out in the middle of the night before my makeup wore off. Inevitably though, he saw my bare face and suddenly he needed to spend more time studying. The next guy had a grandma who got really sick, and the third one decided he just wasn’t ready for a relationship after all.
They’d always had a reason to break things off after seeing me without makeup.
One guy at the pool, who I didn’t even know, asked me why my parents hadn’t “fixed my face” when I was younger.
I was still pissed that I’d felt compelled to explain to him that my single mom hadn’t been able to afford the laser treatments necessary to “fix my face”.
I never went swimming at the community pool again.
That’s why I’d sent Sloane the photo without makeup. I wanted him to know upfront what he was getting into.
Letting Sloane get to know the real me had been easy. I hadn’t had to worry about how I looked when I wrote my letters. The second things got flirty between us, I should have shut that down. Instead, I went full steam ahead, and now that I’d sent my picture to him, I was having second and third thoughts.
Tammy answered my question with a shove to the shoulder. “Probably because you’ve only dated losers in the past. You’re beautiful. If Sloane’s as great as you say he is, your birthmark won’t matter.”
“I showed you his picture—you know how gorgeous he is.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“He’s way out of my league.”
I had swooned at the photos of him in board shorts without a shirt at a pool party—his six pack on full display as well as his muscular arms with the tribal tattoos and Marine Corp insignia.
The shots of him in his uniform had made my heart skip a beat. He looked sexy and in-charge dressed in the camouflage but damn if seeing him in his dress blues didn’t do things to my insides. The man could fill out a uniform.
But I loved his smile the most. It was as if it lit up his whole face. And the way it seemed to reach his beautiful bright blue eyes had made me melt as I’d traced his image over my phone screen.
I was kidding myself if I thought I had a chance with him.
Tammy let out a long sigh. “Ash, you were crushing on him long before you even knew what he looked like.”
“So?”
“So, would it have mattered if he had a birthmark when you finally saw a picture of him?”
“No, of course not.”
“So, why do you think it would matter to him?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’m just nervous. He’s going to be here in three weeks.”
My friend studied me for a beat before asking, “How long have you been a part of Military Angels?”
“Um,” I stalled as I did the mental math in my head. “Four years. When I got my first job out of college and could finally afford to do it.”
“And how many service members have you written to over the years?”
“I’m not sure? Maybe eight?”
“But this is the first one you’ve ever talked about, and as far as I know, the only one you’re going to meet. What’s so special about him?”
“I don’t know…” I stopped, regrouped, and began again. “Okay, for starters, he wrote back—they don’t all do that. And the ones who did, kept things superficial—which was fine. But there was just something about his letters; how honest he was in them. And, we have a lot in common. It’s silly, I know. I probably read way too much into it when he wrote that he wanted me to meet him at the airport and take me out for my birthday.”
“I don’t think you read too much into it. Isn’t he making a special trip just to see you?”
“No, he’s stationed at Camp Pendleton.”
“ He’s from California? ”
“Yeah.”
“So, you two could really date when he returns for good. Like, this really could be a possibility.”
“No,” I replied without thinking, then closed my eyes before grumbling, “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t want to get my hopes up. Maybe he just wants to thank me for writing him and sending him socks and beef jerky.”
But our correspondence had been more than that, and it hadn’t all been one-sided. After he’d told me how much he looked forward to receiving my letters, I’d written more than once a week, never thinking he’d do the same.
But he did.
He’d poured his heart out to me, talked about his fears, his goals, his hopes for the future when he returned. He’d told me about his family, his emotional hang-ups, why he’d never gotten serious about a woman before. Hell, I even knew about his golden retriever, Tank.
And he’d written, I can’t wait to meet you and wrap my arms around you in a big hug (maybe kiss you, too, if that’s okay?) You have been my beacon, and some days it’s the mere anticipation of meeting you that keeps me going.
And I’d been just as forthcoming in my correspondence, while always still trying to remain upbeat. I’d wanted my letters to bring a smile to his face.
And now he was coming home for Thanksgiving, and we were meeting in person. Except, he’d asked me to meet him before he’d even known what I looked like.
There was no way he would have done that if he’d seen a picture of me first.
I’d never dreaded a holiday more.