Page 11 of Hidden Desires

“I’ll do a chai,” I say, and before I can protest, he’s up and at the counter, ordering for me like we’re in a 1950’s after-school special. I use the thirty seconds to get my breathing under control because how can this man have such a crazy effect on me after only two minutes? I need to start thinking like a sane person, but it’s hard when I’m with a man so handsome.

When he returns, he’s got a gingerbread cookie on the saucer, which make me smile.

“Oh I love gingerbread,” I murmur. “Especially when they’re in the shape of men.”

“Do you?” he asks, a black brow rising. “And which part do you eat first?”

I laugh merrily.

“The head of course!” But then, I take the gingerbread man in my hand and nibble suggestively at a leg before letting my tongue flicker out and swipe lightly over the cookie man’s crotch. It takes just a second, but Jack’s eyes darken immediately.

“You’re a bad girl, Eliza,” he rasps. “Much worse than I thought.”

I giggle.

“Am I?” while putting the cookie down. “Well, you’ll have to teach me a lesson then, Uncle Jack. But in the meantime, I want to get to know you. So this is weird, right? Us meeting like this? Do you feel weird?”

Jack grins, the lines at his eyes deepening. “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t weird, but actually, I feel fine, sweetheart.”

“Oh good,” I murmur happily. “I’m glad you said that because I’m comfortable too. But how are you, Uncle Jack? We haven’t really caught up since you came back to town, so it’s been ages.”

A moment passes where we just watch the steam curl off our mugs, both of us acutely aware of the vibrations in the air between us. Then, he starts in:

“I don’t mean to dump on a young girl, but do you really want to know?”

There’s a shift in the air, and suddenly, I feel closer to this man than I ever have. I nod somberly before putting my hand lightly on top of his big one.

“Yes, tell me,” I say in a soft voice. “Tell me everything, Jack.”

The older man stares down at the table for a moment, his expression tense. “I flew the Bagram run four times,” he says, “First two, routine. But that third trip—” and he’s off, telling me about a supply drop that went sideways, with insurgents on the ground and a storm rolling in overhead. He makes it funny, somehow, self-deprecating, and when he mimics the sound of flak hitting the metal hull—”ka-BLAM, just like in the movies, except you hope the movie ends with a sequel”—I laugh, really laugh, and both of our spirits feel lighter.

He tells me about how he got his wings, how the guys on his team were “goons with hearts of gold,” and how he sometimes misses the discipline, the sense of knowing where you stand every morning. “Civilian life is a constant struggle,” he says, looking at me over his coffee. “You have to remember what mask to wear. Not a literal mask, like during the Covid era, but a mask so that people think you’re normal.”

The words stick, and my heart goes out to this handsome, complicated man.

“It’s fine, Jack,” I murmur. “I know you’re normal.”

Something flickers in those blue eyes, but then he smiles.

“What about you?” he asks. “Gerald says you’re the brains at your law firm.”

I roll my eyes and giggle. “Not really because I’m just a paralegal. Not even a paralegal, but more the human equivalent of a Post-It note. I keep things from falling apart, but nobody remembers who did the gluing.”

Jack nods, a slow, understanding gesture.

“And outside of work?” he presses, blue eyes piercing. “What do you do for fun?”

I’m not about to tell him my hobbies include entertaining strange men while utilizing a camera and ring light, so I give the spiel I always do: “I run. Sometimes I paint. I like to watch those cooking competitions on YouTube, even though I never actually cook.” The lies are so gentle they almost feel like truths.

Jack smiles. “You always were an overachiever, sweetheart.”

I flick a crumb from the table. “Thank you for saying that, Uncle Jack. Your words mean a lot to me. More than you know.”

There’s a beat, and then the massive man leans forward, so close I can see the flecks of grey in his stubble.

“Eliza, tell me the truth. What are we doing here? Give it to me straight. I’m a soldier, and I can take it.”

The honesty is so raw I almost drop my mug. I decide to lean in too, to see what happens if I just go with it.