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“You’re sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure.”
“Perfect. Where are the glasses?”
“Cabinet by the sink to the left.”
I cup her head and kiss her before I open the wine and fill two glasses. We sip the red blend with approval and Harper shivers.
“It’s chilly in here,” she says. “I can turn on the fireplace in the living room and we can eat in there.”
A few minutes later we’re settled on the floor in front of her coffee table eating. “Holy hell, this is good.”
“It’s my favorite,” she says. “I have a lot of favorite places around the area. North is one of the few places that has been here since you were here. This place is new.”
We sit and chat about the neighborhood and all the places we both know and love, until we’re both done with our food. As we sit back and turn toward each other, the air is thick, the pull between us palpable. She reaches out and catches my arm, tracing the rows of numbers randomly placed between a clock and a skull with an anchor.
“What do the numbers mean?”
“Numbers are how I process everything. If I’m thinking about anything, anything at all, there are numbers in my head.”
“Even me?”
“Yes. Even you. It’s a part of my life in all ways. It’s how I make money. It’s how I negotiate. It’s how I brush my damn teeth. It’s how I saw mission paths in the SEALs that no one else saw.”
“SEAL Team Six,” she says, running her finger over the skull and anchor before looking up at me again. “That’s intense. You saw blood and death. I’m sure you had to take lives.”
I cover her hand where it rests on my tattoo, and I don’t even think about denying who I am. I’ve been done with that kind of self-doubt a good decade ago. “Is that a problem for you?”
“Of course not. You’re a hero. I just hate that your family drove you to that life. You could have died. You have to have nightmares and just stuff—baggage.”
“Less than you might think,” I say. “I compartmentalize extremely well.”
“I don’t,” she says. “I’m pretty all-in emotionally when I’m in. You should know that about me.”
All in.
Iwanther all in.
I lean in closer, my hand on her cheek. “I want you all in.”
Her hand covers mine on her face. “Until you leave again.”
“Let me clarify what I just said. Yes, I compartmentalize easily, and yes that means I shut people and things off easily. But not you. Never you.”
“I didn’t see you for six years, Eric.”
“I told you. I thought of you often.”
“As one of them.”
“As the woman who wouldn’t just fucking get out my head.”
She pulls back sharply, bristling a bit, as she says, “Well, you wouldn’t fucking get out of my head either.”
“But you didn’t come to me, did you?”
“You left in a way that made it clear you were done with me.”
