The Best Man (Blue Heron #1)(95)

“So you don’t talk about the war, then.”

He didn’t say anything for a second. “I just don’t know how to answer when people ask that question.”

“How many tours did you do?”

“Four.”

“All in Afghanistan?”

“Yep.”

She paused. “Were you ever scared?”

“Sure.”

“Is that where you met your wife?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t say anything else. Faith waited. Waited a little more. “You can tell me about it, you know,” she said.

“About what?”

“Whatever you wanted. What you had to do over there, how you feel about it, or your wife, your mom, your father...whatever you want.”

He sat up and started dressing. “There’s really not much to tell.”

Looked like the intimacy portion of the afternoon had ended. “Well, if the mood ever strikes to go into a bit more detail, I’m just saying you can, if you want to.”

“I don’t.” His movements were sharp and hard.

“Yes, that’s coming through loud and clear.”

“Well, not everyone sits around feeling the feelings, Faith.”

“Is that a jab at me?”

He stopped buttoning his shirt. “No.”

“Do you have bad dreams?” she asked, unable to stop. “Is that why you bake in the middle of the night?”

He didn’t answer for a long minute, his smile gone. “Yes,” he said eventually.

She waited for more. Nothing came. She waited some more. “You could wake me up, too,” she said. “If you’re sleeping over, that is.”

He looked at her solemnly. “I don’t have those dreams when I’m with you.”

The words went straight to her heart—a gift, even if he didn’t seem to realize it.

His phone rang. Dang it all—just when they were getting somewhere. He groped for the evil little device, and honestly, wasn’t Everett ever on? “Chief Cooper. Hey. Sure, what’s up? Yeah, okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Faith suppressed a sigh. She shouldn’t complain; the guy was the police chief. “I have to go,” he said. “Alice McPhales thinks there’s a man in her woods.”

“Right.” Mrs. McPhales, her Girl Scout leader. Seemed like her Alzheimer’s was worsening; Faith had gone over the week before to cut back her plants for winter. The sweet old lady had made her tea but had forgotten the tea bag, so Faith, not wanting to upset her, had just drunk the hot water. “Want me to come with you?”

Levi glanced up at the clear ceiling. “No, it’s really pouring. I’ll just tramp around in the woods and reassure her.”

“I don’t mind.”

“It’s fine. I’ll see you at home.” The word home had never sounded nicer.

Tiling her chin up, he looked at her steadily. “I had a really nice time with you today.”

“Thanks. Me, too.”

“Walk you back to your dad’s?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll get this all cleaned up. Put out the fire and all that.”

He kissed her quickly, and again more slowly, then left her alone with the sound of the rain and the smell of wet leaves and wood smoke.

* * *

WHEN LEVI LEFT THE STATION after filling out a report or six, it was dark. The rain had blown off across the lake, leaving behind a clear, moonless sky. Lights were on in Faith’s apartment, he noted as he crossed the green. He stopped, looking up. It was a skill he was getting pretty good at, this spying—first his father’s house, now her funky little apartment. From where he was, he could see part of the red wall, a bit of the bookcase where she displayed all those family photos.

And the rose quartz heart he’d given her.

He should probably cop to that.

There she was, the phone tucked under her ear as she walked, a carton of Ben & Jerry’s in one hand—she had six of them in her freezer last time he checked, and not one green vegetable—a spoon in the other. She was laughing, and Levi felt a blade of lust knife through him. He loved when Faith laughed. She had such a girl-next-door face, but when she laughed, she looked—and sounded—like a sex kitten, and the husky sound of her voice seemed to have an electric effect on his groin.

His phone rang, and he jumped, then answered it. “Chief Cooper.”

“Little Cooper here.”

“Hey, hon, how you doing?”

“I’m good. Got an A minus on my chemistry test.”

“Told you so. Good job.”

“Thanks for the cookies. I’m getting fat. Fatter, I should say.”

“You’re not fat.”

“So what are you doing?” There was that lonely note in her voice again. “You at the station?”

“Nope. I’m staring up at Faith’s windows, watching her.”

“Stalker-ish of you.”

“Well, I’m a police officer,” he said. “We’re good at that.”

“At being pathetic, you mean? Because that sounds totally pathetic. You about to burst into verse? ‘What light through yonder window breaks’ and all that crap?”