The Military Wife (A Heart of a Hero, #1)(33)
Months that he would be in danger every single day while she was safe. “Maybe I should go back to Nags Head with Mom.”
His sigh tickled the hair at her temple. “You need to acclimate yourself to life in Virginia Beach. Make connections. No luck at today’s interview?”
“That empty glass over there wasn’t celebratory.”
“I’m sorry, babe.”
The silence wasn’t suffocating with Noah at her side. If they could just stay like this forever.
“Did you contact Allison Teague yet?” he asked.
“Not yet.” She gnawed the inside of her mouth. “We don’t have anything in common.”
“You both have husbands who are about to deploy.”
“She has a baby.” She didn’t mean to add the pinch of panic to the word “baby.”
“Don’t you want to have kids?”
“I guess. Sure. Eventually.” The thought of having a baby while she was still so unsettled terrified her. It was like she’d stepped into quicksand and instead of saving her Noah was waving and saying, “Bon voyage.” “I didn’t go to college to pop out babies right away, Noah. You know I want a career.”
“Yeah, I know, but…” His shoulder moved under her cheek in a shrug.
She could sense he wanted her to press him for whatever strife was hiding behind his innocuous agreement. Melding their lives was already a complex process and if the fundamental beliefs were weakened she wasn’t sure what to do.
She did want kids. Really, she did. Just not at twenty-two with a husband who was getting ready to leave her all alone.
Chapter 9
Present Day
Hope and life thrummed through the cabin, but Bennett decided it had nothing to do with the logs around them and everything to do with the woman they harbored.
“All that salvation stuff is ancient history.” He rose and gathered the tin bowls and cutlery, bagging them for a cleaning. It busied his hands and allowed him to find his footing.
“Is it? I’m not so sure.” She stirred, and he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She flicked the short curtain aside and shivered. “Weather has gotten worse.”
“Yep.” The wind whistled through cracks in the chinking around the windows, making the curtains sway.
“Will we be stuck here another night?” She pulled a chair and her pack closer to the fire and rummaged around inside.
“Don’t rightly know yet. The front wasn’t supposed to drop this far south. The cabin is stocked with enough food and firewood for a week. You don’t have to worry about freezing or starving to death.” He pulled his chair next to hers, held out his hands, and rubbed them together.
“I’m not worried about freezing to death. Or starving. I was wondering if I should save these or not.” She dropped a package of graham crackers, marshmallows, and two chocolate bars on the table.
It took a few beats to put the items together logically. “You brought s’mores?”
“I thought they were mandatory on camping trips.” She ripped open the crackers and poked around the fireplace. “Have you got anything to roast marshmallows on?”
Roasting marshmallows on a survival trip. Ridiculous. Impractical. Fun? A warmth tied itself into a knot in his chest. “Let me see what I can find.” He ducked outside and foraged for an appropriate stick.
Back in his chair, he shivered and pulled out his pocketknife to whittle the end to a point. He handed it over and slumped back in his chair, his legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles.
She hummed a little off-key as she opened the marshmallow bag and speared two. Crouching at his feet, she turned the marshmallows above the flame, her patience keeping them from burning. Using his feet for leverage, she pushed up and assembled the s’more.
“This is a masterpiece. My best one ever.” She displayed it on the palm of one hand while performing a Vanna White flourish. She held it out toward him.
“Yeah, it looks amazing.” He couldn’t seem to stop his lips from turning upward.
“Go on. I made it for you.” She waved her hand under his nose.
He uncrossed his arms but didn’t reach for it. “For me?”
“You deserve it for putting up with me and not making me sleep outside and for getting the stick.” Her smile was coaxing and sweet.
He took the s’more and took a big bite out of the corner. The warm marshmallow and melted chocolate hit his tongue like a gourmet dessert. Still smiling at him, she licked melted chocolate off the side of her hand. The dart of her tongue did weird jumpy things to his heart.
“Is it heavenly?” she asked.
“’S good,” he mumbled around an even bigger bite. In fact, he couldn’t remember anything tasting so good.
She readied two more marshmallows on the stick and resumed her position at his feet, this time putting a hand on his knee for balance. The warmth of her touch was incinerating compared to the flames of the fire.
“In high school, we used to build bonfires on the beach and drink beers and make s’mores.” While she assembled her own s’more, she asked, “When’s the last time you had one?”
The last and only time he’d had one was in Mississippi. “It was a long time ago.”