Page 26 of Chasing Amanda

She’d never been so certain about anything in her life. And that was good, because she couldn’t bear to think about being separated from him until it was absolutely necessary. “We’re not going to worry about what you think you should do, okay?”

She could invite him to her apartment, but she feared he really would drop her off and leave. “There’s a mall in Warwick. Do you like shopping?”

“I hate it.”

“Me too. Let’s go.”

It was a typical mall. One story, bookended by department stores with specialty shops scattered in between, decked out for Christmas, despite the fact that Thanksgiving was still a couple of weeks away. They walked from one end to the other while Amanda peppered Mark with questions. They’d covered the basics, but she wanted to know everything.

“In the car on the way to lunch, when I told you about the peanut butter cookies, you had a funny look on your face. Did your mother not bake? Or was it something else?”

Mark chuckled, but the sound held no joy. “It’s not good that you can read me so easily.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She stopped and looked up at him. “Can you read me?”

He studied her for so long that her cheeks burned. Finally, he smiled. “Like a children’s book.”

“Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

His lips tipped up, almost a smile, and she knew he felt it, too, this thing between them.

He started walking again. Neither one of them had so much as glanced into the stores. “I’m an only child. Unfortunately, my parents don’t like each other very much. We had few happy family moments.”

She squeezed his hand. “That must’ve been hard.”

Mark steered her toward the food court and the scent of greasy hamburgers and gooey cinnamon rolls, but so soon after lunch, nothing about it smelled appetizing. After he bought them each a soda, they wandered toward Macy’s, hand-in-hand. “Earlier, you avoided telling me where you went to school. How come?”

“I went to the Naval Academy.”

“Oh.”

He swirled his drink and shook the crushed ice.

She should’ve guessed. His crew cut, his muscles, even the way he carried himself—they all screamed military. “It’s hard to get into the Naval Academy, isn’t it?”

He shrugged. “There are a lot of steps.”

“Did you always want to go there?”

Mark steered her toward a seating area outside the department store, where they settled side-by-side on an industrial couch.

She put her back to the arm of the chair so she could face him.

He propped an ankle on the opposite knee, then balanced his cup on his thigh, apparently not feeling the condensation that dripped onto his jeans. “I’ve wanted to be a Marine as long as I can remember.”

“How come?”

“Dad served in Vietnam. My uncle served in Korea, and my grandfather served in Europe. His division liberated a concentration camp.”

“A family legacy.”

Mark shrugged. “Didn’t have to be. Dad was always very clear about that—that I should follow God’s plan for my life.” He watched her for a reaction, but she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say.

“My parents talk like that too. Like God has some grand plan, and I’m supposed to follow it.”

“You don’t believe it?”

“I didn’t, but…” But meeting Mark, the way it happened, the way he’d saved her? She was coming around.