Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(56)

He kept his head down, his boots crunching over pebbles and fallen leaves as they ambled along the well-trod path that crossed the meadow. “You were young.”

“I knew what I wanted,” she said simply.

“Let’s not talk about it,” he said tightly.

Ginger bit her tongue and forced herself to be silent because she wanted to talk about it. She wanted to get it all out in the open. Why did he run from her every time it seemed like their relationship might veer from platonic to more? Why did he shut down their conversations when they approached the topic of their attraction to each other? Why wouldn’t he succumb to the feelings she sensed he had for her? It was maddening, especially since today was Saturday. Time was running down. A week from today, he’d be gone, and she didn’t have any idea when he’d be home again. She had this overwhelming, fierce need to make the most of the time they had left together.

“How’d you decide on nursin’?” he asked her.

“Huh. Well, my folks moved Gran to Silver Springs three years ago, and I would go to see her whenever I could. Guess I got used to bein’ there.”

“You like it.”

“I do,” she said, listening to the sound of their boots on the path. “I even love it.”

“That’s real good, Gin,” said Cain, elbowing her lightly in the hip. “How come you say it like it’s a secret?”

“My folks hate it. They would have preferred I go to college in Lexington or Frankfort, or somewhere like Vanderbilt.”

Cain scoffed. “Who gives a sh—snit what they want? It’s your life, not theirs.”

Warmth spread in her chest, and she turned to look up at him. Cain had always encouraged her to jump when everyone else wanted her to stay still, stay quiet, stay safe. How she longed for his swagger and strength as a constant in her life. How tiring it was to fight her little battles alone. Melancholy enveloped her as she thought about him leaving her again.

“You lookin’ forward to goin’ back on Friday?” she asked in a small voice.

He shrugged. “Half yes, half no.”

“Tell me about the halves.”

“Half yes because I’m good at what I do, and I feel, I don’t know, in charge of my life when I’m servin’. Responsible. Useful. Like I fit in in a way I never did while I was livin’ here.” He scrubbed his free hand over the jet-black bristles of hair on his head. “It’s a good match—me and the military. I found myself there, Gin. Jeez, that sounds so stupid, but—”

“No, it doesn’t,” she said, but her heart ached a little, imagining that if he loved the military life so much, coming home and settling down in Apple Valley, which Ginger loved so desperately, wouldn’t be a very appealing prospect to him. “You goin’ to make a career out of it?”

“Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know yet. I’ve got another year on my contract, then I can take a few months off and figure it out.”

“Figure out whether or not you’ll reenlist?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Lately I’ve been sort of thinkin’ that I’d like to get on my bike and ride it across the country. Or across Canada. Or across Europe. Or hell, all three. I’ve seen all these amazin’ places from the sea. I’d like to see them from the ground too.”

“Wanderlust,” said Ginger softly.

“Wanderlust,” he repeated, and she could tell he was trying out the word for the first time. “Hey, I like that. I think I might have found a new name for my bike, Gin.”

“So you finish your year, you ride across the U.S., Canada, and Europe, and then you figure out whether you reenlist or . . .”

“Or,” he said with finality, as though “or” could be a choice, and probably—in Cain’s world—“or” was a choice, which was maddening for Ginger, who wanted plans and promises, who wanted to know he’d be back on such-and-such a date so that she could circle it in red on her calendar and look at the circle whenever she had a bad day.

Suddenly he stopped walking and pressed Thunder’s reins into Ginger’s hand. She looked up and watched him sprint across the meadow a little ways to an apple tree at the edge of an orchard. He reached up, his long body stretching skyward as he picked four apples, cradling them in his arms as he ran back to her.

“Think old Mr. Pinkney will notice four missin’ apples?”

“Bet not,” she said, handing him Thunder’s reins and taking two of the apples. One she gave to Heath, and the other she bit into, letting the tangy sweetness slip down her throat. “You never talked about the other half.”

“The other half?” he asked, apple juice pooling at the corner of his mouth. For just a moment, she imagined herself being bold enough to lick it off.

“When I asked if you were looking forward to gettin’ back, you said, ‘Half yes, half no.’ What’s the ‘half no’?”

“Oh,” he said, raising his eyebrows and taking another bite of his apple as he gazed down at her, and she wished she knew what he was thinking because he winced just slightly before turning away from her and pulling on Thunder’s reins to start walking again.

She followed him, good at knowing when Cain had talked himself into a corner, but also certain that if she stayed silent, he’d talk himself out of it.