Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Dennis
He smelled her.
Then he smelled them. The scent of all they’d done last night. Going for it last night had been the right move.
Being right felt so good.
Because she had tasted good. Delightful, in fact.
And this morning, he’d have more. Breakfast in bed meant something completely different on this–to use her word–perfect morning.
Eyes closed, Dennis reveled in the cool sheets slipping against his skin as he rolled over, led by his nose.
And another body part considerably further south.
Last night had been a feeding frenzy. No other way to describe it. The last time Dennis had made love with a beautiful woman was so long ago, he was pretty sure it was a different decade.
But now, now…
Empty cotton was all he found.
Again, and again, and again as he patted the sheet.
Eyes open now, he realized he was alone.
And her side of the bed was cold.
“Ana?” he called out, hoping she was just in the bathroom.
Silence.
“Hello?”
More silence.
With a mouth like the Sahara, he climbed out of bed, walked into the bathroom naked, and although he already knew the answer, looked for her.
In vain.
Found a glass. Filled it. Drank it. Repeated that, wiping a line of water that dribbled out of the corner of his mouth, down his chest and belly, a few drops ending at his navel.
“Damn it,” he said to his reflection, his hands going to his head, fingers digging into his scalp.
One-night stand.
She’d fooled him.
After three rounds of mind-blowing sex, she’d cuddled up to him, their bodies practically bonded together by sweat, juices, and a kindred-spirit energy that gave him not only the best lay of his life, but the best night’s sleep he’d had since before basic training.
Ana was magic.
And when you witness magic, you’re never the same again.
Scanning the room as he walked back to the bedroom, his gaze caught a note propped up against the television screen.
Neat, old-fashioned cursive made him fall for her a little bit more.
Dear Dennis,
Thank you for last night. You really are perfect.
You started the night by saving a cat and you ended it by rocking my world.
My world, though, needs to be steady right now.
Nice and steady. So I hope you can remember our time together as a precious moment of magic as we stand on the edges of two different lives, our pasts about to be archived, our futures yet to be written.
I can’t let you be my Mr. Rebound, so I need to let you go, so you can be someone else’s Mr. Perfect.
All my best, always,
Ana
He let out a string of profanity that wouldn’t make any of his Army brothers blush, but would have required a deposit of $7.25 in his mother’s swear jar.
Ana couldn’t do this.
Last night had been too special. Too aligned. Too–
Just… too.
A kind of kismet he’d never felt before. Sure, the sex had been phenomenal, Ana not shy about telling him what she wanted, where to touch, tease, lick, and–on one occasion–bite.
And the easy way she had of opening him up pulled him toward her, overriding his closed-off nature.
I can’t let you be my Mr. Rebound, so I need to let you go, so you can be someone else’s Mr. Perfect.
Screw that. What if she was his Ms. Perfect?
Fumbling for his phone, he finally found it in his discarded pants, the six-digit unlock code an impediment he had no patience for.
Then he paused.
Because his stupid self hadn’t thought last night to get her phone number.
“Dumbass,” he muttered. “What do you know about her? Ana. Ana on the twenty-third floor. Ana who lives in Newburyport. Ana who smells like cinnamon muffins and tastes like pineapple and limes. Slam dunk for finding her.”
Banging his head lightly against the wall did not, surprisingly, jar any additional ideas loose.
The phone in his hand buzzed. With a rush of hope, he looked at it, but–
Nope.
His mother.
What’s your ETA? she asked. Kell’s shoveling the path to your cabin. We’ll start a fire in the stove when you text that you’re on your way.
Shoveling. Fire. All the advance planning that his mother juggled in her head made his start to hurt.
A look at the clock told him it was 9:03. That was super late for him.
Tap tap tap
The knock on the door made him lurch, halfway there before he realized he was still naked. Finding his pants again, he stuffed his legs into them.
“Hang on!”
Surely, she’d changed her mind. Reconsidered. Realized how special they were together.
Come back.
Cold feet happened, right? After what they’d shared last night, he understood she’d be a bit skittish, unaccustomed to sleeping with someone a few hours after meeting. Same with him, minus the nervousness.
He knew.
Just knew they had a spark, the kind worth following to see where the illumination took them.
As he reached for the door handle, he ran his fingers through his hair, her scent imprinted on him.
Disappointment greeted him on the threshold.
Disappointment, and... bacon?
“Room service, sir,” a guy in a white shirt and black pants said, carefully avoiding eye contact. He held a tray.
“I didn’t order room service.”
“A woman ordered it for you. She said, and I quote, ‘breakfast is on her.’”
Oh, geez.
Dennis had no emotional blueprint for this situation. Zero training. No framework. Blindsided, he just gaped at the guy, feeling his blood pressure rise.
“Would you like me to put the tray on the bed or on the desk?”
Dennis let out a small growl.
“I’ll just set it down right here, sir,” the server said nervously, “and let you enjoy your breakfast. Dial 4 for the kitchen if you have questions. Bye!”
As the guy lit out of there, Dennis took in a deep breath and quietly muttered profanity.
What was she doing? Disappearing in the middle of the night, which was no small feat. He’d slept like crap for decades; every tiny sound woke him up.
Yet… not this time.
The one time it would have been beneficial.
Some kind of trance had come over him, her smile bewitching, her charms so powerful. No, he didn’t believe in that kind of magic, but Ana did cast some sort of love spell over him.
One he wanted more of.
Glaring at the tray, he bent down with a grunt and picked it up, the bacon too good to ignore. As he set the tray on the bed with its mussed sheets, his gut tightened.
She should be right there, under those covers, his mouth on her skin, her hands in his hair.
Bacon was a poor substitute for morning sex, but it would have to do.
As he poured himself coffee from the carafe and started making his way through the breakfast–pancakes, bacon, fruit salad, scrambled eggs, and toast–he eyed the pancakes and smiled.
In Love You, Maine, everything was heart shaped. These were probably the last round pancakes he’d be seeing for a while.
“Oh, Ana,” he muttered, swallowing his sorrow with a dose of hot coffee. The scald felt good, as if a little pain and a shot of caffeine could mend his bruised heart.
Not broken. Not even battered. Just… a little tender.
Closing his eyes, he let the memory of last night wash over him, knowing that he had no real choice. If he stuffed his emotions, they’d just leak out. Anger wasn’t appropriate here, and grief seemed melodramatic.
Her rejection sucked, plain and simple.
“Lick your wounds, soldier,” he said with a sigh as he popped a sweet strawberry into his mouth.
Sure, he wanted more. Another date would have been nice. Newburyport was where she lived, and if memory served correctly, that meant she was about two hours south of his hometown.
Doable, but she didn’t want to do him.
Again, anyway.
Hydration and caffeine were helping a little, although not as much as a kiss from her.
Instead, he got a kiss off.
“Hold on,” he said, arguing out loud with himself. Ever since he was a kid, he’d done this. Thinking the words wasn’t the same–they needed to be spoken to be real, considered, evaluated.
Validated.
“Maybe I should be flattered. Someone like her doesn’t go around screwing just any guy. She ran out because she panicked, she didn’t know what to do.”
Putting another piece of bacon in his mouth, he mulled that over.
“But she’s a therapist. Aren’t they supposed to be super emotionally healthy? Or are they just human and flawed like the rest of us?”
“Oh, shut up,” he told himself. Plowing through the rest of the food, he tried not to think.
A plan. He needed a plan. The clock now read 9:33 and he needed to shower, pack, and check out. All he had was a small rolling carry-on and a backpack. Movers had shipped the rest of his stuff straight home.
Home.
A few years back, his brother Luke had proposed that the whole family buy the old camp they’d attended as kids. Luke had been recently widowed, and Dennis knew the idea came from pain.
Luke’s pain of losing his childhood sweetheart, the mother of their child.
Amber’s death had left Luke all alone with a four-year-old, Harriet, a true sweetie. If he had any regret about living abroad, it was that he hadn’t gotten to know her.
But now he would.
Because he had a new home now, one of the cabins at the old camp, and it would be the first time he had his own permanent place.
Apartments and barracks and extended hotel stays added up to home for him for all of his adult life, until today.
Today was the first day of the rest of his civilian life.
His phone buzzed. Probably his mother.
But to his surprise, it was Rafe, his closest friend.
You up? was all it said.
Eating room service in a hotel before driving home, Dennis replied.
Room service? You went soft on day one?
Rafe was still in the Army, shocked more than anyone else by Dennis’s retirement, yet also the person who understood it the most. A die-hard soldier through and through, his friend would never leave.
Or, as he often said, he’d leave, alright.
Leave the Army in a body bag.
Rafe hadn’t witnessed the incident six months ago, so he couldn’t evaluate Dennis’s choice. Best friends were best friends, though–through and through.
Having Rafe check in on him felt good, but also bizarre.