The Military Wife (A Heart of a Hero, #1)(7)

The line curved out the door now. She really should help Sheila. Harper was the best with numbers and anything technical, including the equipment, yet for once she didn’t care if the line ever started moving again.

“What’s your favorite flavor?” He gestured and took another lick that had her swallowing, almost able to taste the cold minty sweetness.

“First summer I worked here, I ate so much ice cream, I put on fifteen pounds and got sick of the stuff. That said, my favorite used to be … mint chocolate chip.”

Sheila’s, “Thank the Lord,” echoed through the store to a smattering of applause as Sheila tore off the receipt for the customer to sign.

He reminded her of the blond hot guy from the Top Gun movie. Iceman. The line moved, and Iceman sidestepped toward the register, his blue eyes still fixed on her. She glanced at the next woman in line only long enough to get her order before her attention returned to Iceman.

She grabbed a waffle cone and scooped butter pecan, all the while glancing in his direction. He paid with cash, sent a last smile in her direction, and disappeared through the line of people out the door.

She let her smile fade as the knots of nervous anticipation dissolved into a hollow wistfulness. Living in a beach town, she was used to seeing people come and go and didn’t get attached to summer dwellers. Yet she had a feeling his crinkled blue eyes and sugared voice would live on in her imagination.

A frazzled mother with two kids pulling at either hand and whining for candy toppings dragged Harper back to her reality. She rallied a smile, even if it felt a little smaller now.



* * *



Harper stuffed her stained, sticky apron into her backpack and swung it over her shoulder. Shift change was at five, and she pushed out the back door of the shop by ten after. The air in the alleyway that ran behind the row of shops was stagnant and smelled of garbage and dead sea life. Everything seemed to move slower, as if the heat had an effect on time itself.

She keyed in the combination on her bike lock, pulled the bike off the rack, and straddled it. The seat was hot against her bottom and thighs as she coasted to the alley opening. A man stepped around the corner. She braked hard and the back end of the bike skidded on the loose stone.

It was her man. No, not hers but Iceman. She dropped her feet on either side of the pedals and waited for his move. The same knots of anticipation retied themselves at warp speed. And something else … relief. Relief she hadn’t seen the last of him.

He held up his hands as if surrendering. “The girls inside said you’d already left but that I might be able to catch you around here. Hope I didn’t scare you.”

“I’m not scared.” With a jolt, she recognized she spoke from a place of truth and not a knee-jerk defensiveness. Like she had in the store earlier, she tempered her words with a smile, this one big enough to use cheek muscles she hadn’t exercised in a while.

“Just so you know, I’m not a weirdo.” A self-deprecating laugh rumbled from his chest. “I guess that’s what an actual weirdo would say, right?”

She swung her leg over the seat and walked her bike closer to him. “I trust you.” Her words registered a millisecond after they left her mouth. “I mean, I trust you’re not a weirdo.”

“My name’s Noah. Noah Wilcox.” He stuck out one of his big hands.

She bit the inside of her lip and slipped her hand in his. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, his palpable strength was attractive. “I’m Harper Frazier.”

“Nice to meet you, Harper.” He gave her fingers a squeeze before letting go and tucking his hands into the pockets of his shorts. Stepping aside, he chucked his chin in the direction of the main thoroughfare, and without words they fell into step side by side, the bike between them like a chaperone.

“So … what did you do the rest of the afternoon?” she asked after too many seconds of silence.

“I hung out on the beach with my buddies.”

Of course he did. She internally cringed. Way to go, Ms. Obvious. Making small talk with the opposite sex wasn’t exactly her forte. She’d never even had a serious boyfriend.

She snuck a glance, but he didn’t seem to be laughing at her. His cheeks were tinged with the beginnings of a burn, his hair glinting even blonder in the sun. “You know what’s strange? Even though I grew up here, I hardly go to the beach. If I’m in the mood, I’ll sometimes walk over to the bay side and watch the sunset.”

“Most people love the beach.” He raised his eyebrows, and she shrugged.

“For one thing, I hate sand. It gets everywhere.” She sent him a meaningful glance and was rewarded with another of his rumbly laughs. “Mostly, though, the ocean makes me feel…” She struggled to come up with the right words. “Small. Kind of sad, I guess. And seriously insignificant.”

Most boys her age were put off by her philosophical musings. That’s the price she paid for being raised by a librarian who didn’t allow a TV in their house.

“Deep thoughts. I myself prefer the vast wildness of the ocean. I grew up on a soybean farm in Georgia. Thought my roots ran so deep that I’d never get out.”

She struggled with the same pull and guilt to stay or go. “You somehow managed to rip yourself away, since you joined up.”

He brushed a hand over his hair with another self-deprecating laugh. “The shorn look give me away?”