Soldier Mine (Sons of War #2)(12)
The offer is friendly yet measured, as if he wants to play it off as something he reminds everyone about. The idea someone this handsome and confident might be afraid I’ll say no confuses me, yet I can’t think of any other reason why he seems almost nervous asking.
I’m not sure how to respond. It’s not a personal invitation per se, but I can’t prevent my pulse from quickening at the chance he’s bringing it up.
“Just … if you’re interested.” He winks and backs away from the counter. “I can guarantee we won’t run out of pecan pie.”
I roll my eyes and turn my back to him, waiting until I hear the jingle of the bell over the door before I face the fa?ade of the diner. Like I have the past several days, I watch him climb onto his motorcycle parked out front, put on his helmet and drive off. I find myself wondering about his leg. If Todd never told me about him, I’d never know from how Petr walks or acts or anything.
“He’s not here for the pie,” Eileen observes.
I glance at her in surprise. Petr is here to ask after my brother or like he said, out of principle. I can’t imagine a war hero – who’s a multi-millionaire at least – wants anything to do with me. It’s easier for me to believe the pie is laced with crack to keep him coming back.
“He’s a good kid from a good family. You should go Thursday,” Eileen adds. “I’ve gone every year. They literally feed the entire town and invite soldiers from the military base up.”
“That’s pretty incredible,” I murmur, not quite able to believe Petr’s that rich. He dresses nice, but he’s … friendly. And a war hero. The combination doesn’t make sense to someone who’s gotten her education about the wealthy from reality TV shows and tabloids.
“Saves money, too.” Eileen lowers her voice. “We aren’t paid shit here, and you can take home as much as you want from the feast.”
This reasoning resonates with me. “We’ll see,” I respond. “I don’t mind working holidays.”
“I do. We’re closed Thursday anyway.” The plump woman leaves me to tend to one of the regulars.
I watch her go, debating what to do about the Thanksgiving party.
Too many decisions send me spiraling into near-panic mode. Karate and Thanksgiving.
Maybe I’m not cut out to be normal after all.
Chapter Six: Petr
I’m not accustomed to dealing with to people I can’t figure out. I’ve always been a quick judge of character without my sister’s emotional edge or Mikael’s eagerness to make friends that made him miss obvious warning signs.
I can’t quite understand Claudia, though, and it’s bugging me more and more. There’s no doubt I’m attracted to her, but there are a lot of pretty girls in town. None of them intrigue me. I’m torn between wanting to take her cold shoulder as a hint and asking her for a cup of coffee to see if I can identify what it is about her that tugs at me.
By the time I reach the community center to go over preparations for Thursday, my phone has two texts from Brianna.
Seeing her name on my screen reminds me of how I vet my friends but not my girlfriends. I guess I have a soft spot for women. Or maybe my sister’s moodiness and mother’s quick temper have made me much more tolerant of behavior I wouldn’t otherwise invite into my life.
It’s moments like these when I remember that Brianna was sleeping with Mikael and me both at some point several years ago. Anger sparks within me.
Why am I torturing myself by trying to make something with her work out?
Because no one else wants you.
I imagine Hulk-smashing the disgusting thought. It’s not healthy. Yet if some part of me didn’t believe it, I’d ask Claudia out instead of trying to safely unravel her personality from our daily, two-minute interactions.
I set down my helmet on my bike’s seat.
“Hey, Petr!” says Beverly, the director of the community center, a woman twice my age with the energy level of a five year old. “You will love what we’re doing this year!”
“I’m sure I will,” I say, smiling.
She motions me in. The moment I set foot in the massive auditorium-slash-gym that will be the center of the feast, she starts talking and gesticulating wildly with her hands. She can see the place set up already in her mind, even if I can’t quite imagine it. I follow her from empty space to empty space while she describes what’ll be there in three days.
“… chocolate turkey!” she exclaims and looks up at me, eyes glowing. “I’m glad we only ordered one. Isn’t that amazing it turned out?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer but starts talking about the food arrangements. I’m here mainly to make sure she doesn’t need more money or people, a job that Katya performed up until moving in with her husband this past summer. I listen to Bev without really understanding what part of her excited rush of words I need to remember and what part is simply informational fluff.
Civilian communications don’t always contain information of value, and their priorities are almost foreign to me. I’m patient and quiet and don’t interrupt her.
“… and that’s why the pie tower has to go in the corner.” She finishes and gazes at me expectantly.
“Sounds like you have everything under control,” I say and look around at the wide space.