The Wrong Gentleman(46)

“You’re very brave, Skylar.”

“I’m not the person here who signed up to protect his country.” I prodded his thigh.

“Bravery comes in many forms,” he said. “To survive what you did and to come out the other side, that takes—”

“Ruthless practicality,” I finished his sentence. “That’s why I don’t talk about it much. There’s nothing to be gained. I just like to keep the storm at bay, keep my path slow and steady.”

“Well, ruthlessly practical works for you. You’re very good at your job. You must love it.”

I laughed. “I’ve never thought about it. I’ve just always focused on having a place to live, food to eat, and money to save so I never had to worry about having it in the future.” My savings account was my umbrella from any unexpected rainfall. “What about you? The army must require practicality.”

“Yes, but I loved being in the army. And then working private security. I couldn’t do my job if I didn’t love it. Passion for what you do is important.”

“Yeah, my parents had plenty of passion for each other, so I’m not concerned that I’m not passionate about my job—Bad things happen when you feel so strongly.”

“No soldier would ever enlist if they didn’t passionately believe in what they were doing, Skylar. No one would run a marathon, climb a mountain. Passion can be a good thing.”

“Maybe,” I replied. Perhaps Landon was right and passion was good for some people. But not me. I needed to stay practical, down-to-earth. “I’m happy with my life.”

“You make it sound like you just bought a watermelon or finished ironing.”

“I’m just realistic. There are many people in the world who can’t say they’re happy. I imagine most of the kids I was in the home with can’t. I’m lucky—I might not be passionate about my job, but not everyone needs to be.” I shrugged. “It’s a small industry. There’s always work if you have good references and people like you, so it’s not as insecure as it seems at first. I’m hoping to get a two-or three-year contract on the Sapphire after this season. But it’s not like the army.”

“I understand that getting to a place where you were established and had some savings was important, but what about now?” he asked. “Those savings you talked about. They give you options, right?”

“I’m hungry. Let’s eat,” I said.

“And I thought I was good at swerving around difficult conversations.”

He let me go as I wriggled out of his lap and began to set the food out. “I’m not swerving. I’ve just never thought about doing anything else. I’ve tried for a long time to avoid the peaks and the troughs. Slow and steady has been my goal. Being passionate about anything feels . . . dangerous.” I paused. In what way would I want my life to be different? I’d done what I’d set out to do when I left the home—I’d survived.

“What about back before your mother died? Did you know what you wanted to do then?”

I shrugged as I offered him a plate in an effort to distract him. All my hopes and dreams of my future died with my mother. Before she’d been killed, there were a thousand futures I fantasized about. When I got to the group home, the idea of being a lawyer—of bringing justice to the guilty—was the only thing I wanted to do. When I’d told one of the workers, she’d laughed at me, so I’d buried that last dream I’d had alongside my mother and every one of the futures I’d imagined for myself. But I tried not to focus on what I’d lost. “I do long for my own room for more than two months a year.” I grinned at Landon, wanting us to change the topic.

He paused and then took the plate I was offering. “Yeah, I get that. I enjoyed having a place to call home when I left the army.”

“You have your own place now?” I asked, before popping a grilled artichoke heart into my mouth.

“Yeah, in London.”

“On your own?”

He grinned. “Yeah—I’m thirty-two.”

“I know, but London’s expensive, right?”

He didn’t answer.

“Was I prying? I’m just trying to picture you there.”

“No, I was just thinking. I guess I like my own company a lot.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. You and Harvey are good friends, but I noticed you don’t really talk about much.”

“Yeah, but we know each other because of what we’ve seen. What we’ve been through together.”

I pressed my index finger against the scar on his right shoulder. He pulled my hand away and kissed my fingertip.

Maybe we both had stories we didn’t share with everyone.

“Come on,” I said, wanting to lift the mood. “We need to find the perfect shell.” I glanced around at the pebbles interspersed with shells.

“We do?” he asked.

“Of course. To remember today. A souvenir, if you like. It can’t be too big, or too small. I like white ones.” I always ended each season with a couple of shells from my most-enjoyable days.

“Wow, you even have criteria for the shells you collect.”

I grinned. “It’s very strict.” I picked up a broken, mottled shell peeking out from under the blanket. “This one would never do. It’s broken, for a start, and the color is just a little sad. I want something to remind me of sunshine and laughter.”